


Elliott Witt tells Dumb Lies

by kittymsmith



Series: Porkchops [7]
Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: AFAB Bloodhound (Apex Legends), Canon Non-Binary Character, Domestic Fluff, Elliot is 5'11 and lies about it, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Naked Cuddling, Practical uses for phallic objects, and a pest, annoy your partner on national television, bloodhound is Tall, tw mentions of past domestic abuse in ch 12
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 29,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23096842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittymsmith/pseuds/kittymsmith
Summary: Bloodhound was precisely six feet two inches tall, on the dot. Elliot was five foot eleven, on the dot, but always said he was six feet. Nobody believed Elliott, but everyone let him have his extra inch, except Bloodhound.---This and other lies Elliot Witt tells people.
Relationships: Bloodhound/Mirage | Elliott Witt, miragehound - Relationship
Series: Porkchops [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1305515
Comments: 78
Kudos: 178





	1. I'm Six Feet Tall

**Author's Note:**

> Ha, a fun little thing I did because I totally don't have a 16 chapter fic I'm supposed to update this Sunday and haven't started
> 
> Anyway canonly Bloodhound is more than likely 6'2-6'3 because Elliot is canonly 5'11 and they are decently taller than him in game (my friend and i spent too much time comparing heights while playing lmao)
> 
> But Elliot Is Six Feet Tall Why Would He Lie

Bloodhound was precisely six feet two inches tall, on the dot. Elliot was five foot eleven, on the dot, but always said he was six feet. Nobody believed Elliott, but everyone let him have his extra inch, except Bloodhound. Bloodhound was quite content to correct him, verbally, in front of anybody, at any moment in time. They did so often enough that Elliott had developed a special glare they privately dubbed the Height Glare, a glare of which he used only with them. It was quite touching, really, to have their own personalized glare. They supposed he thought it would make them stop, but all it did was goad them.

“So, if I’m six foot, then Tavi is-“

“Five-eleven,” they said. They couldn’t see the conversation-they were laying on the couch in the common room, feet over the back, reading a book about mushroom collecting. They couldn’t see the glare, but they could feel it on the soles of their boots.

“If I’m _six foot_ , then Tavi is-“

“Five-eleven,” they sang. Artur, who was bouncing between their lightly swinging feet, crooned in agreement. _Good raven._

“I’m 5’7, bro,” Octavio said, with great amusement.

“Damn, really? I was gonna guess 5’8.”

“That is because you were making your guess off of an incorrect base,” Bloodhound said, in the next moment hearing a squawk; they lifted their book to see Elliot leaning over the back of the couch, pointing at them

“I’ve had about enough of you!” He said, all bark, no bite. They crossed their ankles behind him, pinning him in place.

“I don’t recall hearing that last night,” they said, grinning behind their mask, reveling in the cackle coming from Octavio as Elliot blushed-his face never really got _red_ so much as it _darkened_ , and right now it was darkening _considerably_.

“Lemmehgoh,” He muttered, trying to pull back, but they hooked their ankles and pulled him further, arms lazily behind them so their book rested on the floor.

“Mm, never heard that one either.”

He gave their knee a mighty whack-which, _ow_ , did hurt, because their knees were shit-but that only made them pull him harder. “Lemmee goooooooooo. Hooooooouuuuund,” he whined, pouting.

They tapped their mouthpiece, winking, though he couldn’t see it. “Only for a kiss.”

“You’re a bastard.”

“And you’re in no position to argue.”

He huffed and wiggled up till his waist was against the back and leaned forward, feet in the air, balancing until he kissed the side of the mouthpiece. “Satisfied?” He mumbled. They hummed and uncrossed their ankles, lightly bumping their forehead to his. He called them Love Boops. He leaned back again, whacking their foot. “I hate you.”

Bloodhound hummed, unbothered.

* * *

The beginning of every season was Bloodhound’s own personal hell, full of the craziest fans barely held back by red ropes and gun-wielding guards. Reporters at their most annoying, fake smiling, egotistical, invasive, _touchy_ incarnations, every Syndicate PR nutcase present, their agent pestering them to talk to this person and that person and, oh go make an advertising deal with this company and this one, like they gave a shit. The only advertisement they’d ever done was for an outdoorsman company six months ago, because they genuinely used their products and approved of their practices. And because the commercial was just them sitting on a log with their bird at the end of a longshot, and when asked if they liked the product, they gave a thumbs up. They used the shot to make a sticker for “Bloodhound Approved” products, all stuff they actually used.

That was fine.

“Allfather Give Me Sprite”? Not fucking fine. Even if it was a decent pun.

So, given their lava-hot hatred for the whole shebang, they were in quite a foul mood. Not that anyone could tell, except Elliot. He said they always got stiff. He was quite annoying at these events, too. He loved the attention, the crowds, the reporters, the advertisements. He’d done almost twenty different commercials since joining the games, double anyone else. He didn’t need the money at this point, he just liked plastering his face over everything. At the very least he’d been more selective since they’d nosedived into a relationship (“ _do you really want to be the face of toilet cleaner, Elliot?”_ ) but still, they got a little irked at him too until they entered the theater for the premier game, where he’d usually simmer down and hook his arm with theirs and they couldn’t help but simmer down themself.

But they weren’t in the theater yet.

They walked behind him while he was doing a live interview, hearing a snippet. “Well yeah, you know, what else am I suppose to do with six feet of gorgeous, you know?”

Oh.

Oh _yes._

Bloodhound popped into frame between the interviewer and Elliot, who both startled. “I would like to inform the Outlands,” they said, sounding as grave as one would at a funeral, “That Mirage is only five foot eleven.”

They were already out of frame when he gathered himself. “You fuc-“

Mirage chasing Bloodhound down the red carpet, cursing in rapid Spanish, went viral within the hour.

* * *

After a few months, Elliot was allowed to switch with Gibraltar next door and then expand the space into Bloodhound’s, giving them a couple’s room. On one end was Bloodhound’s hammock, on the other the “normal people” bed from Elliot’s. The space between became a blend of wilderness and modernity, books and Nintendo games, Elliot’s Jesus Christ Man amount of beauty products and Bloodhound’s faithful aloe vera plant that kept their face and hands clear and soft.

The bed they slept in depended on the mood. And by mood, that meant whether or not sex was on the books. Elliot’s was certainly a lot easier. But the hammock could be an _adventure_. After their little stunt at the red carpet, Elliot was evidently feeling adventurous, because the first thing he did once they had their gear off was shove them into the hammock and then grab the ropes to stop it swinging, looking down at them splayed out, quite genuinely surprised. “You _owe_ me for that little stunt, sweetheart.”

Bloodhound’s eyes widened, but then their face settled in a smirk, which seemed to annoy him even more, grabbing the hem of their shirt and pulling it over their head. They tossed it to the side, cocking their head at him, arms crossed behind their neck. “Oh, are you going to just stand there? Or do you need a leg up? It’s a little high for you, isn’t it?”

That did it.

He pounced.

And Bloodhound reveled in it.

The only time Elliot didn’t lie about his height was in bed. Because truly, he liked being a little shorter, Bloodhound knew it-he’d told them. He’d never been the little spoon until he met them. Bloodhound, conveniently, liked to be big spoon, so this worked out beauteously. Elliot’s favorite position was a bit different though-he would curl up at their side, head resting in the crook of their shoulder, with a hand holding one of their breasts. They pulled their hair out from under them, letting it drape over the edge of the hammock, musing to themselves, “what is it with men and breasts.”

Elliot, half asleep at their side, squeezed one, then the other, resting his hand on the latter, arm over their chest. “World cold and hard,” he mumbled, “titty soft and warm.”

They laughed, catching him watching. “And the jiggle?”

“Fuck yeah,” he mumbled into their side.

They laughed again, turning their head and kissing his nose, resting forehead to forehead. “Am I forgiven?”

“Mmmm,” he stretched, tilting head up to kiss them. “For now.”

“For now?” Their voice lilted in amusement.

“For now.” His eyes half opened, a soft smile on his face. “Because you’re gonna piss me off again later.”

They grinned. “You’re absolutely right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also have a Tumblr where I take c*mmissions @ kittymsmithwritesstuff.tumblr.com


	2. I'm Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elliot insists he's fine, and Bloodhound has to find out why he's not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whole idea of Elliot telling lies and Bloodhound finding the truths, or using them to tease him, just kinda stuck with me. This will probably be something I write to give myself a break from my other miragehound fic-and the other one, beside that one. yeah there's another, unpublished because I wanna finish it before I put it up. 
> 
> Anyway y'alls comments and kudos made my day, just viewing gives me a Happy. 
> 
> Anyway here's some light angst.

“I’m fine,” he sighed, pulling a comb through his hair. Bloodhound watched him, arms in the sleeves of their shirt not yet pulled over their head. He half turned, curls held between his fingers, mid styling. “I’m fine, seriously.”

“Mm.” He wasn’t fine. Elliot didn’t sigh and stare melancholily at himself in the mirror. He _loved_ looking at himself in the mirror, loved the rhythm of the morning routine and the combing and anti-frizz gel and everything that Bloodhound didn’t understand. They finally pulled the shirt over their head, watching him squirt the anti-frizz gel into his hand and start massaging it into his damp hair, enthusiasm almost nonexistent. Like he was anyone else getting ready for the day, not Elliot Witt.

They turned before he could yell at them for lingering, tying up their hair in a ponytail to be braided, but then immediately giving up and turning back around. They caught his eyes and he set his jaw. “I’m fine.”

“You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not.” He flipped his hair to the side, stiffening as they leaned on the wall beside him, bulbs of the bathroom mirror making them whiter than usual.

“You look like a drooping flower.”

“Gee, thanks babe.” He whipped out a facecloth from the stack in the corner, shooting them a look. “Makes me feel _real_ special.”

They sighed, looking off, arms crossed. They had a Game in an hour, and if they went with Elliot in a _mood_ they were going to hear about it from _everyone_. If he was on their team? Allfather be merciful, they might as well dive straight into the lava, because he was going to be cross with them whether they did well or not. But they were thinking too harshly; something was bothering him, but Elliot, usually so open about things, could be a real shit when something was really, genuinely a bother. And Bloodhound, who tried their best but possessed and admittedly limited selection of methods in dealing with vague boyfriends, could very easily get annoyed with his little lies. _“I’m fine”._ _Why say you are fine if you are not? Just tell me you’re not! Then tell me to fuck off!_ But no, Elliot wanted to grumble, and Bloodhound had to figure out why.

He left them in the bathroom. They could hear him rustling around his dresser, probably muttering complaints about them. They looked at the counter, rummaging around the drawers (very carefully-Elliot was absolutely anal about his care product organization) and then wandered to the main space, made from Bloodhound’s windowed room, which now had curtains, and some additional space that resulted from opening up Elliot’s dorm. They searched the magazines on the coffee table, through his little scribbled notes and the margins of the books they read aloud to him. Nothing.

They did a sweep through the hammock room-their old bedroom-but found nothing either. They huffed. _There’s nothing wrong, you’re just being a shit, aren’t you?_ It wasn’t unheard of. Everyone was subject to _moods_ , sometimes days were just bad-Bloodhound had them themself. But how hard could it be to just _say_ it. “I’m not fine and I don’t know why.” That’s all it took. It was like he expected them to know why he was mad. Now _they_ were the one grumbling.

That is, until they looked at the calendar pinned to the wall by the door. They stared.

“I’m an asshole,” they said aloud. Elliot came in a moment later and they turned to him quickly. “I’m sorry.”

He crinkled up his nose. “Whatever.”

“No, really, I’m sorry.”

“What _ever_ ,” he huffed, gathering the holo-emitters he’d left out on his drafting table. Bloodhound chewed their lip.

“I forgot the date.”

He paused almost immediately, slowly turning to eye them. He stood up straighter when they didn’t move. “Why should that matter.”

They sighed. “You lost your brothers, Elliot.”

He started picking up the holo-emitters again, much slower. “They’ve been lost for eighteen years,” he said, quietly, voice cracking, “I’m fine.”

They hesitated, coming up behind him, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. He tensed, then relaxed, a resignation. “You still lost them,” they said softly, “and that always hurts.”

Elliot was dead quiet for a solid minute. It was disturbing. Finally, he set the emitters down, staring at them, blinking quickly, the rise of his chest shuddering. “I look just like Elijah,” he whispered. They extended their arm around his shoulders, feeling him lean into them. “I’m older now than he ever got to be. How is that fair?”

“It’s not,” they said softly into his hair, kissing his head.

“And we, we have a,” he huffed through his nose, “a stupid fucking Game today. I don’t…I don’t want to play. I just wanna…go. Somewhere else.”

“Let’s go then,” they said, feeling him startle, “or you can, if you want to be alone.”

“Just leave?”

“Why not?”

He looked up slightly to meet their eyes, looking thoughtful. He placed his hand over theirs, leaning his head on their shoulder. “Kind of dumb to sit here and say I’m fine when I’m not, huh?”

They made a noise, not technically _agreeing_ , but not denying. He let out a breathy little chuckle. “I’ll…try to be more transparent.”

“I’ll try to not be an ass.” They said, pulling him fully to them, giving him a proper hug.

He sort of snuggled into the hug, kissing their cheek. “Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao hammock sex


	3. My Favorite Color is Yellow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bloodhound wonders why on earth Elliot would lie about something so trivial, eventually derailing in a not so trivial confession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this got a little sappy at the end, but so does love. 
> 
> Glad everyone seems to be enjoying this, much love to the commenters and kudo-ers, y'all never fail to make my heart soar. 
> 
> Additionally, if anyone has an idea or request that they think would be interesting regarding this story, I'm all ears. Appropriate credit will be given in Chapter Notes at the beginning. :)

“Oh, I know! What's everyone’s favorite colors?” Natalie said one night, over the twice-weekly card game. The Legends all glanced at one another, Octavio speaking first.

“Green, but like, radioactive.”

Ajay snorted, jerking her thumb towards his glowing dorm. “Like dat wasn’t obvious.”

“Whatever, pinky.”

“I don’t like pink anymore, I like orange.”

He tossed his hands. “Pink’s been your favorite since we were little!”

Bloodhound could see the corner of her lips quirk up. “Didn’t know you’d botha’ rememberin’.”

Octavio huffed at that, folding his cards. The question went around, Bangalore red, Gibraltar dark green, Crypto admitted he was fond of dusky oranges, Renee and, surprisingly enough, Caustic, both liked dark purples. Pathfinder and Revenant were not present to answer, the question naturally shifting to Bloodhound, who paused a moment before saying blue.

“Oh yeah,” Elliot, seated on the floor leaning on their legs, angled his head up. “Cause it occurs in nature the least.”

They nodded, smiling behind the mask.

Natalie grinned, pointing at Elliot. “Can I guess?”

“Sure.”

“I think we like the same, ami: yellow!”

He flashed his charming grin winking. “Right on the money. Speaking of money,” he tossed down a royal flush, triggering a chorus of groans from everyone else, “gimme yours.”

That was the smoothest win Elliot had ever gotten, with a sweet little smile that made the skin around his eyes crinkle while he rested his head against their thigh. It was delightful, though what he said had brought a question to their mind. They kept it to themself, though, shuffling the cards, moving with the conversation of the evening, enjoying the company of the other Legends, whom they’d come to know better than they ever had before Elliot stuttered his way into their heart. They would really call them friends now. Which is what made Elliot’s comment all the stranger.

They didn’t test anything until two days later, after a game. Elliot stepped out of the shower, not jumping at all at Bloodhound just sort of being there. He told them they tended to do that. “Question, dearest.”

“Shoot,” he said, scooching past, rubbing his head with a towel, making his hair poof up rather adorably.

“What’s your favorite color?”

He looked at them strangely. “White. Why?”

“I thought so. You told Natalie yellow earlier.” They came up, starting to finger-comb his hair while he sat on that a minute.

“You remember the weirdest shit,” he said finally. They kept combing his hair, willing to wait, always willing to wait. All prey eventually moved, and all boyfriends eventually spoke, even if they didn’t want to. He sighed, giving them the sort of look that said he loved them dearly but god _damn_ were they persistent. “I wear a lotta yellow, okay?”

“I know.”

“Yeah, well, that’s why I said…that.”

“I don’t wear a lot of blue.”

“You should, you look good in it.”

“And you look good in yellow. And white.”

He sighed as they gradually turned the finger combing to a head massage. A gentle smile started to rise to his lips. _Got you_. “You know what you’re doing?”

“Oh, I know exactly what I’m doing, _elskan_.” They kissed his forehead. He chuckled, halfway trying to dry his torso before giving up. He’d already dripped all over the floor anyway.

“People think white is a stupid color. Or like, that it’s not even a color-which techni-technia-it isn’t kind of. But it can be anything, you know? Blue, green, yellow…it can be the whole rainbow. Or it makes everything else brighter and prettier.” He gave a half-shy shrug, leaning into their touch. “I don’t wanna explain it every time, which I know is kinda dumb. So yellow.”

They finally released him from their massage attack and he, uncharacteristically, forwent his usual hair routine and walked out to the bedroom, or at least the one with an actual bed and not a hammock, Bloodhound following. “Is yellow your second favorite?”

“Nope. I mean I really like it, don’t get me wrong but it’s…it’s my mom’s favorite.” Bloodhound stilled, internally biting their lip. They knew very well about his mother-everyone on the ship did now. They had been a part of those calls, spending more than half of them reminding her who they were. Hearing her call him every one of his brother’s names before his own; if she remembered she had sons at all. Seeing that pinching pain in his eyes when she was only lucid enough to know something was wrong with her and kept asking what she could do to fix it. Talks of his mother were not frequently positive, nowadays, outside of the arena. But right now, he was smiling.

“That so?”

“That’s why my main suit is yellow,” he said, “because she loves it. After Dad, and my brothers, she said all the yellow she had left was me. Said no matter what when I think of yellow I gotta be happy.” He smiled wider. “She still remembers yellow. The feeling of it. It makes it easier if I think about it, but I don’t, not enough…” he trailed, picking out a pair of sweatpants with the faded logo of his old college and pulled them on, glancing at Bloodhound. “It’s kinda dumb, but can I tell you something?”

“Always,” they said, softly, one arm holding the other to their side. He walked up to them, looking up, touching their cheeks, then their shoulders before his hands slid down their freckled arms, taking their wrists and then pausing, shaking his head, the start of a laugh fading into a breath.

“My mom has this thing, she told me as a kid, that the day she realized just how beautiful yellow could be was the day she realized she loved my dad, and that it kinda transferred to us kids. Like your favorite person is the source of all the color in the world and you’ll know it because everything will seem brighter, even on bad days.”

Their heart was pounding in their ears. He put his hands on their cheeks, cradling their face, and his eyes crinkled around the edges, cheeks darkening with a blush and a laugh slipping between his lips. “What I, what I’m trying to say-god this is so sappy-or maybe it isn’t I don’t-…what I’m trying to say is that the world’s seemed a whole lot brighter lately.”

They swallowed hard. Their heart had stopped, they were pretty sure. They were dead. But breathing felt so sweet. “Are you…are you telling me, are you saying you love me?”

“I am, I mean I have, but, I…I’m saying you make me _happy,_ even on bad days, even when I’m mad at you, you still make me happy. And I think I’m saying I love you _so_ much more because I realized the reason why every day isn’t as hard as it used to be is because…of you. I guess what I’m saying is, is you’re my color, babe. You’re my yellow.”

Their throat was so tight that when they tried to speak all that happened was a strangled gasp that they buried in his shoulder. They pulled him in, held him so closely and so tightly that he had to tap out for a breath. They laughed at themself, rubbing away stupid little tears brimming at the corners of their eyes. “Y-you’re my blue.”

They’d caught him off guard, tears welling up in his eyes at the same time he wiped away theirs. “D-Don’t cry, don’t cry this is stupid and sappy.”

“You’re crying, too, _hálfviti_ ,” they sniffled, wiping away his tears, arguing in their head that they were bigger than theirs-that he was definitely crying more, because Bloodhound didn’t cry. Crying was stupid, even though it wasn’t, just like someone loving you enough that the world seems even marginally less dismal isn’t stupid.

“We-well, well…” his lips drew up into a trembling smile, “well you’re right. We’re both crying. We’re both sappy. And dumb and stupid and silly.”

“I-it feels great,” they whispered.

“Doesn’t it, though? I think they call it love.”

“You know,” they said, feeling like they’d only just realized how rich a russet his eyes were, “I think you’re right about that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hammock will be put to good use later. 
> 
> (you know who you are)


	4. I'm Not Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elliot's not sick, he's not! It's just allergies! Guyyyyysss!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's one that's a little lighter compared to the last two. Elliot's a bit of a shit, but so is Bloodhound, therefore love.
> 
> Also shoutout to hikaie who wrote mechanic inspired by the dumb hammock sex joke. Y'all should check it and their dealer's choice series out. It's fookin mint

He sneezed sitting right between Bloodhound and Crypto, who both reeled out of cover despite being in an otherwise open field. Elliot sniffed, glancing. “What? I’m fine.”

Bloodhound heard him sniff several times in the cafeteria, watching him swig orange juice. He started taking the vitamins he always forgot, had tissues stuffed in his pockets inside and outside of the Games, covering the cough that started coming on about the forth day. He tried to snuggle up to Bloodhound and they curled themself up, keeping him away with their bum. “Nei.”

“What?” He wiggled his hands toward their head but was prevented with a wildly whacking hand. “Honey, baby, my sweetest honeypie, my darlingest darling?”

“You’re getting sick.”

“I am _not_ ,” he gasped, indignant, Bloodhound could imagine him clutching pearls.

“You are. You’re already sick. And if you get _me_ sick, we are going to have problem.”

“You kissed me this morning and you’re fine!”

They curled up tighter, laying with their head almost off the mattress. “Neiiii.”

He huffed, then shifted till they were back to back-or rather butt to butt, considering Bloodhound didn’t unfurl all that much. “Well if I am sick, which I am not, thank you, then you’re already infected.”

They wrapped their arms around their pillow in place of Elliot, groaning as they buried their face into it, voice muffled. “Allfather, no.”

The next day he started to sound stuffy but denied it vehemently despite Renee plugging her nose and imitating his whine (very accurately, Bloodhound might add), only causing him to whine more. Ajay even grabbed him on the way to the dropship platform, wagging her finger at him. “You should be restin’.”

“I’m fine, God I’m not sick it’s just-just allergies.” He waved his hand flippantly.

She put her hands on her hips. “You don’t have any allergies I’ve seen your file.”

He walked away quickly, muttering about spontaneous allergy development disease. Ajay rounded on Bloodhound, who instinctively held up their hands, the look in her eye not unlike the faded memories of their own mother’s. “You,” she pointed, accusatory, “why haven’t you got him in bed? The dude is sick!”

They gave a half-hearted shrug. “What do you expect me to do, hold him down?”

“I expect you to be a bother until he listens. If anybody else gets sick because of him, _I’m coming for you_.”

Bloodhound could handle a lot of things, including but not limited to death, dismemberment, spontaneous combustion, food scarcity, extreme isolation, and Elliot’s telenovelas, and they could handle Ajay’s wrath, _but they sure as hell didn’t want to._

Elliot played badly. His aim was off, his voice was scratchy, and anything he said was practically worthless because his coughing made it a nightmare to understand. The only reason he survived into the top ten was because of a rookie and Caustic, who kept his distance and, when Elliot was downed by an enemy sniper, conveniently became too busy with setting up his traps that he had to run from the ring, missing a revive and his banner. He came out of the infirmary sniffling and complaining of a headache. “But I’ll get it tomorrow, you know?”

 _Oh no you won’t,_ Bloodhound thought, putting a gentle hand on his back as they led him into their dorm. He went to take a shower as he always did, Bloodhound taking the opportunity to quickly change the bedding. He came out in pajamas and they intercepted his path to the bed, guiding him instead to the other room, where their hammock was. He made a noise in the back of his throat, immediately coughing afterward. Without much ceremony Bloodhound simply lifted him up and tossed him in-being a triangular hammock, held at each of the points, he didn’t fall out but sort of ended up in the middle, fist to his mouth as he coughed up a storm, staring up in confusion. “Babe?” He wheezed.

They tossed his favorite blanket and a pillow in. “You are resting.”

He rolled his eyes. “God I’m not _sick_ it’s _allergies_.”

“If you’re not sick, get out of the hammock.”

“What?”

They gestured, now unclipping their mask, pulling the whole contraption off in one go, splaying their hair wildly. “Get out of the hammock.”

He huffed, ending in a wheeze, and then tried to go forward, but his legs were stuck beneath him and his coordination regarding pulling one of his legs out from under him was abysmal. It was like watching a newborn calf figure out how to stand, except the calf would have figured it out a whole lot quicker than Elliot. The second foot was its own disaster, requiring him to lay back and try and grapple it out from under him while his other leg waved in the air, and when he finally got it with a triumphant wheeze, he was laying in such a way his options were either slide head first off, or wiggle around like an erratic worm until he could slide off feet first.

He attempted the latter, Bloodhound watching all the while, until it ended in a strained gasp, follow by heavy, wheezy breathing. They walked to the edge of the hammock, looking down at him. Chest heaving, he glared, spurred with new energy that lasted about a second before he flopped back. “Fine,” he rasped, “I’m a little, a lil…lil sick.”

“Mmmhm.” His eyes were half glazed, still trying to catch his breath. They laid the back of their hand to his forehead and cheek, both blazing, and then left. They half wondered if he would try to get out again, but decided he wouldn’t have the energy, not after the struggle, or the game. When they returned he was half on his back. They placed a cool, damp cloth to his forehead. “There, krútt,” They gently pulled their fingers through his hair, nails scratching his scalp lightly. “I will put water on the table and you can rest, ja?”

He nodded slightly, limp in defeat or exhaustion, they weren’t sure which. “What, what does that one mean?”

“Pardon?”

“Krútt.” He coughed, covering it with his arm.

They smiled. “Cutie.”

“Aww, even when I,” he hacked, annoyance flashing across his eyes, “even when I look like shit you think I’m cute.”

“My love is not so conditional” they tweaked his chin gently, setting water and tissues on the table. “But for now, you should rest. And stop lying when you’re sick, you ass.”

He gave a half salute, letting his hand flop behind him. “Aye, aye, cap’n.”

They chuckled, taking post in a chair in the corner, perching with their latest book. He tried to talk for a while at first, until he eventually drifted into sleep. Without his chatter Bloodhound got through three books in a few hours, stopping only when Artur reminded them to eat. They made broth for Elliot, who stayed awake long enough to finish half of it before falling asleep again, bowl clasped between his hands in his lap. They carefully moved his fingers until they could pry it away and adjusted his blanket to cover all of him.

They paused to watch his chest rise and fall, each breath ending in a soft wheeze. His cheeks were the closest to red they’d ever seen, a thin sheen of sweat over his skin, hair splayed haphazardly. A little bit of drool running out of the corner of his mouth.

They shook their head, chuckling quietly. _You are right, krútt, I do think you’re cute even when you look like shit._


	5. I'm Not Scared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elliot chooses a day on the town for their next date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This features a "day out on the town" as suggested by nyanbun. Ended up running with it considering the length of this chapter lmao
> 
> The lie isn't until like 2k words in. I might have gotten carried away. Debated between making this its own one-shot or not but there's...still a lie soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

“I’m bored.”

Bloodhound, prone on the ledge far above the field below them, turned their head to look over their shoulder. Elliot, wearing about three jackets and looking distinctly _damp_ , was staring at the sky. “Hello bored, I’m Bloodhound.”

“Don’t you Dad-joke me.”

“Don’t complain about a date you agreed to.”

“I thought we’d be killing something.”

“We will be. You just have to have patience; Allfather delivers.”

He huffed. They turned back to their scope, scanning the field in steady, precise rows, glancing up now and then to get a full view. There were deer in this area, good deer if the hunter’s lodge a planet over was to be believed. They’d needed a hunt, and Elliot had come before, back on Solace, before they were really _dating_. But that had been more exciting, they’d tracked a Fang, non-native to Solace, possessing a single large retractable fang in a catlike head, powerful hind legs for pouncing, and arms with wings for gliding, almost bat-like, and sharp claws. It was terribly dangerous, which meant Elliot loved it. They’d even let him keep the fang, once they drew the poison out.

So deer were, understandably, a downgrade. They’d at least give him credit for being quiet three hours before complaining. He loved them, he wanted them happy, they knew this, but Elliot had a limit. After the third huff they passed him a knife, which he took readily. “Oh, I get to stab something?”

“If you can find something to stab. Take extra bait down too, might entice something, oh Restless One.”

He grinned, dipping to give them a kiss on the cheek and a pat on the bum before leaping off the ledge. Bloodhound almost had a heart attack before remembering they’d brought their jumpkits from the Games. He ran around the field, scattering the pheromones that should draw the deer and dipping out of sight occasionally behind the rock formations and dips in the field. Bloodhound angled their sights on him, and he started messing with them, popping out behind rocks and making silly faces, climbing things he definitely should not have been climbing and then waving at them. Dancing ridiculously, at one point getting distracted and sitting down to pick flowers. _You are terrible for the hunt, inamorato._

He evaporated at some point, allowing Bloodhound to focus again. It was a while but there, a heard appeared, maybe seven individuals, a single male with an amazing set of horns that built up and inward, forming the perfect circle for a moon to rest in. Bloodhound was content to watch them-they were not leaving soon. Footsteps alerted them to the approach of Elliot before he placed something on their head. They felt, leaning on their side to look up at his grin. “A flower crown?”

“Yeah!” He tilted his head so they could see his own, daisies. Theirs was made of purple beebalms. “I also got this!” He held up a very fat rabbit.

They made a noise, genuinely impressed. “With a knife?”

“Yeah! I mean, he wasn’t very fast, but I remembered that thing you told me about the, the,” he wiggled his hand, “the wrist flick, and I did it, and it worked!”

They smiled. “I’m proud of you.” This made him beam and they pushed themself up, stiff and aching from sitting so long, to meet him for a kiss. “Very proud.”

He smiled against their lips, gently pressing his forehead to theirs-a love boop. “Good teacher.”

“Better student. Come, the heard is here.”

He perked up, putting the rabbit aside and then getting down beside them, shoulder to shoulder, and looking through the scope. “Aw! They’re pretty-aw, they got _babies_. They’re so _cute_ ,” he gasped, “we’re not killing the babies, right?”

They chuckled, moving an arm over his shoulders, lightly tapping the side of his head with their own. “Nei, nei, nor the mamas.”

“Good.” He relaxed and was far more willing to sit now, both of them going between looking at the heard until it started to move. Bloodhound gave Elliot the opportunity to shoot, guiding him to the best deer, and when it came time to, he did well. The deer fell, the heard ran, and Elliot said the prayer of thanks with Bloodhound as they field-dressed it. His pronunciation was getting better.

Everything was skinned, cleaned and what was not cooked was buried in the snow piled in the shadows of the rocks and would be taken back to the dropship when they left the next day. They sat together and ate by the fire, talking. Bloodhound remembered nights like this alone, only hearing the crackle of fire and Artur tearing into his meat, and they thought they would miss it more than they did. “Hey just, uh, you know I really liked this. In case I sounded like I didn’t earlier like you’re not boring and this wasn’t boring but-“

“Elliot-“

“-I just kinda didn’t know what to expect I guess, and I love spending time with you more than anything, especially jus-“

“ _Elliot_.” He stopped on a dime, turning. “I know this isn’t entirely your…thing, that is why we take turn planning dates, yes?”

He smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, guess that was kind of the whole agreement.”

“Just a little.” They wiped their fingers off on their pants, Elliot making a face at it while using the perfectly good napkins they’d packed. “Do you know what you want to do?”

He bit his lip, looking off. “Well, I had an idea. But I dunno how you’d feel about it…”

“Tell me.”

He squirmed a minute, then looked over. “A day out. Just like, in town.”

They stiffened. “We’ve done that before.”

“Yeah but not…”

“Not without my mask.”

He nodded slightly, raising his hands quickly. “Before you say no, I checked and like, you know there’s parts of the Frontier that doesn’t really know the Games and, well, well there’s a place not far from here that our metrics are absolute shit in. Like they don’t even really show the games there.”

They hesitated a long moment. “So it would be very unlikely anyone would notice us?”

“Y-yeah. We would just be people on a date.” He swallowed. “Just two people going out. And if anyone was like, hey aren’t you such and such? It wouldn’t be hard to deny.”

They regarded him, slowly cocking their head to the side. He clasped his hands together in his lap. His legs were pressed into the log they sat on to keep from jiggling, they knew he was chewing at the inside of his cheek. It was a risk. It could go terribly wrong. But it could also go terribly right. And Elliot…Bloodhound was not an easy person to be with. He sacrificed quite a lot of normal to be with them; they barely even interacted outside of the Games for fear a narrative would start that they couldn’t end. Even the idea of telling the other Legends had thrown them into more than one anxiety attack he had to deal with before they finally got a hold of themself enough to make the announcement. They’d almost thrown up, but most of the reactions were along the lines of “no shit”, and no one had breathed a word. It’d gone fine.

This…could also go fine.

“Hound?” They snapped to attention, catching his worried eyes, the hand waving in front of their face. They’d been staring Gods knew how long.

They caught his hand, kissing the knuckles. “Okay.”

He stopped a moment, then broke into a grin. “Really?”

“Yes,” they whispered, swallowing their nerves with a kiss to his lips, “really.”

* * *

Yelan was a small planet not far from Talos, but because it was small and technically outside of the “Outlands” of the Frontier, it hadn’t broadcasted the Games past the first season. Bloodhound was standing on a cobblestone street in a tank top and jeans and feeling the sunshine on their face. They were holding their boyfriend’s hand and he, eyes alight, was chattering like a caffeinated monkey.

Their skin tingled at the warmth, at the proximity of people that passed them by and paid them no more mind. They had been in the city, open, easy target for camera or bullet alike for an hour. And not a single person cared. No one. No one at all.

“So anyway, I was thinking maybe we could catch this play before we leave and-…babe?”

They inhaled deeply, having not realized they closed their eyes until that moment. They turned and kissed him, gaining a startled squeak, followed by a laugh that they kissed away, finishing with a love boop. “I think a play sounds nice.”

He blinked like he expected an explanation, but Bloodhound wasn’t about to give one, simply humming and pulling him along when they saw what looked like a consignment shop. Finding clothes that fit them was always a challenge, but they ended up walking out with a long-sleeve shirt in a matter of minutes. Elliot dragged them to a store themed entirely after Nintendo, and they had to threaten him with confinement to one half of their dorm if he bought a 50 piece special edition figurine collection. He moved on to a special edition Switch and they groaned aloud. “You already have one of those!”

“Yes, but this one has Tom Nook on it!”

“What about the Pikachu one at home?”

He gasped delightedly, hands to his cheeks. “You remember who Pikachu is!”

“I _like_ Pikachu.”

“You don’t like Nook?”

“He’s weird.”

“A yellow electric rat isn’t weird?”

“I thought he was a mouse?”

Elliot paused, then pulled out his phone, following Bloodhound as they subtly tried to get him the fuck away from the Switch. “Huh. Mouse. Ooh, they’ve got a plushie of Walau-walawee-the purple dude!”

Bloodhound looked at random cute creatures they barely recognized for another thirty minutes before they pulled him to a candle shop. Some of the scents were far too much, but they both walked out with three each. And a couple bags of unscented ones for their altar back home. They wandered a few more shops before getting horribly lost, landing at a ramen shop above a tattoo parlor. Nobody spoke English but the food was good and Bloodhound somehow paid for it with three white candles and a pocketful of change.

They found their way back to the main drag and, both being insatiable at the best of times, followed their noses to a bakery that had some inglorious bastard of a croissant filled to the brim with chocolate. Elliot excused himself to the bathroom while the treats were being warmed, coming back with a suspiciously ostentatious bag. Bloodhound turned, croissants in hand, and narrowed their eyes. “Is that a Switch?”

He smiled. “No!”

“What is it?”

He paused, looking around. “Okay yes, it’s a Switch.”

“ _Elliot_.”

With their accent, it sounded very much like _idiot_ , as it should. He grinned cheekily, taking his croissant before Bloodhound could act on their half-baked impulse to eat the whole thing to spite him. “What? It’s not like we don’t have the money.”

  
“No, but, ugh it’s the _principle_.”

“And _I’m_ the worrywart. Besides,” he chomped down on the croissant, immediately dribbling chocolate all over his arm and trying to lick it off between his words, “I thought, y’know, we could play games together now.”

They sat down, dropping their bags and passing him a napkin, which he only used after he licked the rest of the chocolate off. “You’re just trying to endear me to the purchase.”

“Oh, totally. But I mean it, y’know, about playing games together. We could play Stardew Valley. You like that one, don’t you?”

Bloodhound squinted, wracking their brain as they delicately pulled chunks of croissant apart. “That’s the one with the pelicans?”

“Pelican town, yes. And the cute little chickens?”

They gasped. “The ugly pigs!”

He grinned. “Yeah, the ugly pigs. It has multiplayer. So, like, we could both be farmers. Well one of us would be the farmer and the other would be the farmhand but we’d still work the same farm, and you can meet the townsfolk and stuff. And you can give gifts to other players. Make ‘em your partner,” he winked, “even get married and have kids.”

Why did they feel warmth in their cheeks? They shook their head, distracting themself with their food. “You’re getting caught up in your fantasies again.”

“A man can dream,” he said lightly, warmly. The conversation ended there.

They took their things back to their hotel room and rested a minute, going out to the play Elliot wanted to see before finding out the nearby beach had a boardwalk and heading that way. Bloodhound couldn’t recall having ever been on a boardwalk before and was pleasantly surprised; in the waning daylight, there were dozens of stalls of games and shops on either side, with intermittent spaces for seats and views of the ocean, bulbous string lights zipping across the walkway between. The salty air combined with the sunset and the random live entertainers was fanciful. They wished they had brought Artur, he would have loved perching on the corners of the stalls and people watching.

Elliot said that the games were rigged but still fun. He told them one where they were to hit a target as hard as possible was rigged so that it only hit the bell on top if it was hit _just_ right, not too soft or too hard. “Hitting it hard just makes it _look_ like you almost got it, but it’ll never quite reach the top.”

Bloodhound had wondered, immediately, if they could hit it hard enough to break whatever sort of failsafe was installed if it was mechanical. They flashed a coquettish wink, nodding to the oversized animals at the top prize tier. “Want me to win you a prize?”

He laughed, throwing his head back. “We don’t need more stuffed animals.”

“We didn’t need another Switch, either.” They said, gesturing pointedly with the rubber hammer before passing the attendant some credits. They twirled the weapon in their hand, inspecting the metal target on the wooden stand. There was a strange slot, almost hidden beneath the mushroom head of the target, with a metal bar sticking out of it just slightly. _Like gym weights, where the peg goes determines how much weight you have._ They guessed, in this case, it determined exactly how much weight was needed to activate the bell; not too much, not too little.

Unless you went completely ham and broke it.

So Bloodhound readied themself, did some mental calculations based on a guess, and then swung with all their weight behind it. There was a crack, and there was a ringing bell. There was also a dented target, but the attendant didn’t seem to notice that in his shock over the broken rigging. Elliot whooped in surprise and pulled them into a kiss. “That was _amazing_.”

“It was, wasn’t it?” They said cheekily, booping his nose with their finger, delighting in his laugh. They walked away with a huge white harpy seal with a content look on its face. They wandered more, Bloodhound ever surprised that _no one_ came up to Elliot, but it was a relief, nonetheless. Yelan was fast becoming their favorite place outside of the woods. They passed another booth, one that had something to do with baseball, and saw what looked like a plush bird-not a raven, they had a plush raven (it was actually a plush Artur from official Apex merchandise, Artur slept with it) but a very round and fat budgie. “Aw.”

Elliot caught their tone and they knew what he was going to say before he opened his lips. “I’m gonna win that.”

“They’re rigged.”

“And yet here I stand with our newest son, Archipelago.”

“Archipelago?”

“It’s a cool word. Archi for short.” He smiled, dragging them to the booth. “Besides, this one’s just hard. People can’t throw the ball hard enough.”

“And you can?”

“Oh honey, I’m Dominican. If I couldn’t throw a ball all my ancestors would pop out of the ground and slap me collectively.”

They watched in amusement, seal under their arm, as he warmed up his arm a little too dramatically. “Isn’t that stereotyping yourself?”

“It’s not a stereotype if it’s true,” he gave them a very serious look that turned to a chuckle before he chucked the ball at the metal bottles, sending the bottle flying into the back wall. Bloodhound jumped and whistled lowly. He shot them a wink and threw another, sending another bottle flying. The attendant looked scared. Elliot threw again but missed, cursing immediately in Spanish and buying another set. That time he got two with one ball and then down the other, throwing his hands in the air. “Who’s the best pitcher?!”

“You’re the best pitcher!” They said, surprised by the excitement in their voice.

The budgie was named Marri.

The boardwalk ended in a carnival pier, a handsome arched gate leading to a fantasy of lights and games and live entertainment, but what interested Bloodhound was the rides; a rollercoaster, a beautiful carousel, and a huge Ferris wheel. They went on the carousel first, Elliot on a narwhal ahead of them while they saddled a beautiful black stallion rearing to go. Elliot immediately made friends with the children sat near him, cracking jokes, glancing back to flash them a grin and make some sort of amusing comment. They grinned, quipping back something about his hair that shined beautifully in the brassy carousal light. It made them feel all fuzzy, just messing with him.

They came off and immediately walked toward the rollercoaster, large and twisty and possessing one loop. “Let’s go on this!”

Elliot slowly looked uuuuup. “You sure?”

“Of course.” They glanced, grinning. “Oh don’t tell me you’re scared?”

He scoffed. “What, me, scared? I’m not scared. I was just, just wondering if _you_ were scared, cause, you know I wouldn’t want you bein’, bein’ scared or nothin’.”

“Mhm.” They smirked, waiting for him to say something, but he stayed with the line, and they placed their stuff alongside everyone elses before boarding right in front. He looked uneasy, glancing their way.

“Sure you aren’t scared, babe?”

They bit down their smug grin. “Oh I don’t know…we could hold hands.”

His hand was gripping theirs immediately. “Yeah, let's do that! Whatever makes you comfortable.”

They smiled, squeezing his hand as the cart started to click up the hill, Elliot’s hand gripping tighter with every inch. They rocketed down the peak, Bloodhound letting out a thrilled scream, Elliot’s was…not so much. They were flung up and down, side to side and in circles, Elliot’s scream eventually sounding less terrified as they threw their hands up on the loop.

There was a photo at the end, taken on the loop, catching probably the only moment Elliot wasn’t terrified. Bloodhound bought the picture. They even went again, this time Elliot insisting that it wasn’t so scary and he was proud of them for braving it. It took all they had not to laugh.

It was getting late, the twilight slowly fading to the indigo of early evening, and the effect could be seen on both of them, but Bloodhound insisted on one last ride: the Ferris wheel.

They saw Elliot gulp as they got in line. “You sure you wanna do this? Line is kinda long.”

“It’ll be mostly gone in the next load on.”

“Well yeah but…eh. Nevermind.” He leaned on them, linking his arm with theirs against the chill. He seemed to grip a little harder as they got nearer but said nothing until they got closer to the carriages, swinging slightly as people disembarked. “Do those look a little…rickety, to you?”

“Mm, no.” They paused just before getting in, looking at him. “If you’re scared, we can go.”

“I’m not scared!” He said, rather indignant before jumping in with a yelp as the carriage swung, the attendant yelling at him for getting in too quickly. Bloodhound followed, sitting across from him. He seemed to relax as they were moved up a notch to let the next carriage get in. He leaned back, his feet propped against the base of Bloodhound’s seat, hugging his seal and looking out at the water and the thin line of purple twilight framing it, ghosts of clouds in the approaching night. It was beautiful, and the dim lights at the corners of the square carriage added to the ambiance.

But as they started to rise further, the ride actually starting, they noticed Elliot begin to shake. First lightly, then more as they came to the top. They didn’t know for a moment if they should say anything since he insisted on being so bullheaded about it, but at the same time they hated to see him actually _scared_. When the shaking didn’t let up during the ascent, they tapped his foot with theirs. “Ellie?”

He jumped, then squealed when the carriage swung. “Okay, I’m scared!”

“Oh, krútt-” They scooted to the side and Elliot launched himself to their seat, making the carriage swing again, and buried himself into their side. They wrapped an arm around him, rubbing his arm, not able to hide the slight amusement in their voice. “You could have just told me.”

He curled into them, tense. “It’s stupid,” he mumbled into their tank top, gripping the hem, “I free-fall three thousand feet for my job every day but this swingy thing just freaks me out.”

“Is it just the swingy thingy?”

“I think it’s the combination of the swingy thingy and the height at which the swingy thingy is at. I mean look, there’s rust on the bolts!”

They began rubbing his back as he adjusted to be more comfortable. “There’s rust on most bolts.”

“It’s freaky.”

“Well, we haven’t died so far.”

He laughed breathily. “Reassuring.”

“Made you laugh.”

He smiled a bit, chancing a glance out at the water as they descended. “It is pretty.”

“It is.” They planted a kiss on his head. “One more rotation.”

“One more,” he nodded, slowly seeming to relax. He wasn’t shaking at least.

And then there was a bone-deep groan, just as they reached the peak, where the ride jerked suddenly. Elliot gripped at their shirt, though in actually just grabbing a hold of their boob. “What was that!”

They leaned over the side. “Looks like it broke down.”

“Oh my _god_.”

He was more in their lap than not. “Well, we’re not moving we’re just…sitting.”

“In the air. At the top of a metal wheel of questionable integrity over the ocean.”

“Yeah…but the view is nice.”

He looked out, sighing, the trembling that had come back reducing itself to the occasional tremor until it was nothing at all. “It is…somebody has got to be writing this shit. Caught on top of a Ferris wheel at twilight with my sweetheart. All that’s missing is a poodle skirt.”

“You could pull it off.”

He chuckled, lightly whacking their leg. They enjoyed the quiet, the rush of the waves, the creak of the metal frame around them, and the warmth of Elliot at their side. “You’re not so tense anymore.”

He angled his head to look at them, eyes reflecting the dim yellow bulbs around. “Yeah I…the view is nice. And I guess it…isn’t all that scary with you.”

They kissed and nuzzled him, smiling. “Neither was a day on the town with you.”

“Really?”

They tweaked his chin gently, forehead to forehead, voice soft. “Really.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want everyone to know that Elliot is still holding Bloodhound's boob at the end of this.
> 
> Securi-titty.


	6. That's not Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bloodhound finds a curious object among Elliot's possessions that they simply must ask him about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God this was so fucking fun to write. 
> 
> If you'd asked me three years ago, as a newly hatched adult, if I'd ever write something like this, I would have laughed. Not because I didn't think I ever would, but because I would have denied it thoroughly and vehemently, with an overcompensating assurance that would have only made you think I most definitely had written something like this. 
> 
> In summary: Bloodhound's a brat but it's all in good fun.

Bloodhound was humming and tidying up the dorm. Sweeping, hanging fresh clothes, moving Elliot’s schematics from the coffee table to his drawing table, moving the Switch back to its dock in the futile hope they wouldn’t wake up to blue screen light because Elliot was still trying to 100 percent Breath of the Wild. Pick up the shameful amount of empty chip bags the couple had amassed and finished off half a beer Elliot had left on a bookshelf the night before because, according to him, “your taste buds abandoned ship when you were born.”

They grabbed up the miscellaneous dirty clothes and had a little fun, chucking individual pieces into the air for Artur to catch, praising him as he flung them into the laundry chute and then flew right back and caught another, doing this with everything but Bloodhound’s bra, which he captured by the strap and promptly took to his nest (that was really a small cat bed) on a top shelf. Bloodhound put their hands on their hips. “Artur! Laundry!”

He made a sort of gurgle and sharp caw at them.

“Are you a pervert or just weird? I hope you’re just weird, bumbubúi, otherwise, I am beginning to have concerns about undressing in front of you.”

Artur made a “bah-bah-bah” sort of noise, which Bloodhound knew meant he was offended, but also sassing them. He laid the bra in his bed and nestled into one of the cups, as if to say, _see, Mabbie? I simply want a comfortable bed._ Bloodhound would argue his bed was plenty comfortable, but the fact was they didn’t want to climb up there and it wouldn’t be the first time they found a raven feather in their cleavage anyway.

Having gotten themself in a mood, they started dusting, first the bookshelves and then the corners of the ceiling, and their shelves in the hammock room, which was essentially their hangout room, as Elliot’s was his, even though it was their bedroom as well. As a rule, the two didn’t intrude into each other’s privacy overmuch-it was something Bloodhound valued, and Elliot did almost as much. He kept his thingies in his room, and Bloodhound kept theirs in theirs. It was mostly their weapons and a desk where the journaled and copied scripture and kept their altar. His, well, they really didn’t know. It was all unlabeled boxes, and the one or two times they’d seen him rummage through it seemed to be mostly holo-tech or baseball related, neither of which they understood enough to care about.

That being said, they were on a roll, and they were going to dust the boxes. There was a set of shelves, wall length and high, and they started with those. Being they were six foot two they rarely had to grab a stool but to reach the top they did. Except they didn’t want to, so they started jumping to reach the last shelf. This led to a box that had been teetering on the corner to fall and spill its contents all over the floor.

“Shit!” They dropped the duster, getting on their knees and turning the box back up. It seemed to be full of car maintenance things-wax, oil, antifreeze and some other stuff that Bloodhound didn’t understand but there were pictures of tires on it so whatever. They got almost everything in but there was a space left, so they looked for what could belong and saw something very peculiar. Very, very peculiar.

They picked it up, jiggling it. At that moment they heard the door open and close. From where they were, sat at an angle from the doorway, they could see Elliot hanging up his jacket. When he saw them he smiled until they held up what was in their hand. “Hello, dear.” They said.

“What, uh, what? That’s not mine.”

“I didn’t ask if it was.”

“It’s not mine.”

“I found it in this,” they gestured to the box, with the object at hand.

“You were going through my stuff?”

“No, it fell while I was dusting.”

He glanced around, pointedly avoiding looking at them. “Oh, yeah you cleaned up, huh? It looks great, babe.”

“Thank you. Um.” They were trying to suppress the grin, but it was so hard. “I thought you weren’t into-”

“I’m not!”

“Then why,” they said, flicking it for emphasis, “do you have a giant purple dildo?”

“Well I wouldn’t call it _giant_ as much above average-I mean I w-w-w-wouldn’t know cause it’s not mine, did not purchase, do not have – must have misplaced, one of, one of yours or something,” he was mumbling the last part, face dark with a blush.

Bloodhound laughed fully now. “I don’t even – you _know_ I don’t – even if I did, would I put it somewhere I have to get on my shit knees to grab it?”

“I dunno, you don’t usually have much trouble getting on your knees.”

They shot him a look and flung the dildo at him. He ducked just in time, the suction cup sticking to the side of the cabinet by the door, member swinging wildly. They both sat and watched it for a moment. Elliot put his hands on his hips, still staring. Once it settled down he reached out and whacked it, setting the thing into a tizzy once again. They both giggled.

“If you have this, I just don’t understand why you won’t let me-”

He broke with a laugh, somewhere between exasperated and embarrassed. “Goddamnit Hound, you are not pegging me.” They pouted and he pointed. “Stop that. Shit, fine, it is mine, but it is _not_ for what you think it’s for.”

“Well I can’t think of anywhere else you can stick it.”

“Hound! You’re just trying to get a rise out of me, aren’t you?”

Their cheeks hurt from how wide their smile was. “Oh, never, why would I ever try that?”

He huffed but came over, helping them to their feet, knees screaming silently. “I’m not that easy to get a rise out of.”

“I never said you were, sweetheart.” They kissed his cheek, a hand on his other cheek that quickly dipped, running a line with their pinky from his collarbone down, earning a soft squeak. “Though you kind of are, and I _love_ it.”

He whacked their arm. “Asshole.”

They grinned, gently taking his chin and tilting it up so they could kiss him through a half-hearted grumble. They nodded back toward the object of the hour. “What is it for, then?”

“Gettin’ dents out of my car.”

Now if that didn’t institute a brief brain reboot, Bloodhound didn’t know what would. “Dents…from your car?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“No, it’s true! There’s this really old video of this chick getting dents out of her car with a dildo and I was drunk and was like, hey, let's try that! And it works super well.”

“I’d like to see that.” They scoffed.

“I’ll prove it to you.” He pulled the thing off the wall with a sharp pop, started to gesture with it for emphasis, stopped to laugh, tried to start again, and started to laugh again, so he eventually grabbed the head to stop it from wiggling. “I’ll let you dent my car.”

They eyed the new little friend thoughtfully. Bloodhound liked a little destruction, and they were sort of itching to get him back for the knee comment (truth be damned). So they nodded, grabbing their jacket and pulling it on. “Alright. Let us go.”

* * *

Bloodhound would have never guessed that, at some point in their 36 years of life, they would be walking down a highly monitored hall at 11pm with their boyfriend and a half-folded 12 inch purple dildo in their pocket, on their way to a carpark so that said boyfriend could show them how to use a _dildo_ to get _dents out of a car._ _Mama, if you are watching, I’m as surprised as you_.

They took the elevator down to the bottom floor. There were few cameras since Talos was uninhabited but for the Games and the small hunting community on the outskirts. Elliot’s car was a Solace model, sleek and black and expensive. Bloodhound wouldn’t call him a “car guy” but he certainly knew enough to do the maintenance himself, something they thought was an odd habit considering he usually readily spent money on every other luxury service. But this was the same man who decided a dildo was effective enough dent removal to keep it, so…whatever.

“Go ahead and dent her,” he patted the rear and Bloodhound probably should have had more hesitation than they did, planting a kick on the flank and, just to show off, and because they were wearing gloves, a punch to the door, making two quite impressive dents. Elliot grinned and, with his typical flair, flung the end of the dildo over the dent, pushed to make sure it was secure, and pulled. With a pop, the dent was gone with no evidence it had ever been there. Same for the other.

“Huh. That actually works.”

“It actually works!” He replied cheerfully.

“It’s still weird.”

“You’re just disappointed I won’t let you peg me.”

“Maybe.”

He jokingly shoved them, and Bloodhound shoved him back before freezing, clamping their hand over his mouth before he could say anything. Footsteps echoed, a sum of paces away. A yellow beam cut through the dim orange of the overhead lights, and a security guard appeared underneath it, balding head gleaming. Bloodhound and Elliot ducked behind the car, the light passing over them. They let their hand off of his mouth, whispering. “When did they add a guard?”

“I have no idea-maybe because Crypto never checks out?”

They cursed; they’d forgotten about the check out system. Talos was surrounded by lava that wasn’t covered by the resurrection system, Legends were essentially locked in after 6pm to avoid accidental death and made to check-in and out before they left the planet. They’d been caught a few times without checking out, if they got caught again, they’d have to listen to the damn Official’s rant. Bloodhound hated those. “We have to get out of here. Follow me, ja?”

“Always.” He grabbed their hand, dildo in the other, and they began to lead him around the fronts of the cars, pausing when they saw the yellow shine of the guards light, stopping near the elevator. Elliot glanced back. “How the hell do we get in there?”

“Stairs?”

“There aren’t any stairs.”

They cursed again, stumbling out of their crouch, bonking into the car by them and setting off an unholy alarm. Elliot’s eyes widened in panic, the guard’s footsteps could be heard heading toward them. “Hey, who the hell is over there?”

Bloodhound looked at Elliot.

Then at the dildo.

And did what they felt they had to.

They grabbed it, Elliot too shocked to protest, and stood, bringing him to his feet, and chucked the dildo with all the strength they had. It was almost slow motion, backward stepping to the elevator and pressing the button while a phallic object of deleterious intent hurled in near graceful somersaults at a man who was just trying to earn his paycheck. The door opened at the same time the rubber menace made contact with his forehead, sending him falling back in shock if not pain, giving Bloodhound enough time to press the button to close the door and press themself to the back wall, breathing heavily.

They went up the floors silently.

The only sounds in the late-night hall was that of their feet.

They walked into their dorm, closing the door behind them and turned to look at Elliot. They took off their coat, then their mask and set them aside, putting their hands on their hips and blowing a stream of air from their mouth. “Well, that was an adventure.”

His lips were twitching. Theirs started, and a moment later they were cackling like mad, tears falling over their cheeks that became red, each breath a wheeze, babbles about the night unintelligible but somehow made each other laugh more. They ended on the floor, gasping on their backs, arms fumbling for each other in teasing whacks. “I c-can’t believe that happened,” Elliot gulped down air, hiccupping. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

“That was one of the best moments of my life,” they replied, voice squealing hoarsely. “Do you think he’ll tell anyone?”

“God, I don’t know. I hope so.” Elliot appeared above them from behind, elbows on either side of their head, mouth a lopsided grin. “You’re crazy.”

“I’m not the one that uses a dildo to get d-dents out of my car.”

“Shut up,” he giggled, “I’ll need a new one, you know.”

“Well if I have any say in it it’ll come with a harness-”

He threw his head back and laughed, dipping down to kiss them, upside down, more chin than not. “You are incorr-incorrigible-impossible! Are you ever gonna stop being a pest?”

They reached up, ghosting their thumb over his lower lip with a glint in their eye. “Never.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bumbubúi - used to refer to unborn babies, literally meaning "belly dweller". But also a cute thing to call your indignant, sassy, bad-tempered, bra stealing bird son.  
> Mabbie - if you're familiar with Serendipity, my main miragehound fic, then you know this, but it's just what Bloodhound prefers to be called as a parent. A combination of mama and Icelandic "Pabbie".
> 
> Please imagine the dildo flying at the guard's face in slo-motion alongside your preferred melodramatic classical piece.
> 
> I also have a Tumblr where I take c*mmissions @ kittymsmithwritesstuff.tumblr.com


	7. I Didn't Get you Anything for your Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bloodhound really doesn't want a birthday present. Unfortunately their boyfriend has other plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look if someone really, really doesn't anything for their birthday just give them money. 
> 
> Also this is probably cheesy but still cute. I think? Lmao Elliot's a bit mischievous

November 23rd wasn’t particularly important to Bloodhound. They wanted for very little, if anything, and when they did want, they simply got it themself. They were not as reclusive as the others were led to believe-they did, in fact, over their life, have several friends, of all creeds, the sort of friends you met a few times and ran into a decade later and had some drinks with. And then you parted ways to either meet again or eventually find out they died. Those friends were not around for the 23rd. Sometimes they’d go to a market on whatever planet they called home for the moment and buy expensive sweets and use the date as an excuse. But that had been the extent of it since they were a teenager.

It bothered Elliot. They’d told him, quite frankly, to not give them anything. “Like, anything?”

“Anything. I don’t need anything.”

“But, but I mean, do you _want_ anything?”

They’d shaken their head, sitting on their couch with their legs over the back, holding their book above their head. They really didn’t know why they sat like this so much, but it had sort of become a habit. “No.”

“Not even a new book?”

“No. I just bought the whole series,” they gestured to the stack beside them. Granted they would be through it in less than a week, but then they would be able to re-read Tom Sawyer and maybe finally understand what the kid was saying. His hands made contact with their feet and started rubbing. They exhaled, resting the book on their chest and craning their head up to look at him. “Sæti, don’t worry at your lip. It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s your birthday!”

They half shrugged, letting their head fall back to stare at the joint of the wall and the ceiling. “Everyone has one.”  
“Yeah but, y’know it’s a-something to be happy about. Another year alive.” He paused. “Unless uh, unless there’s a reason you don’t want to celebrate?”

“Are you wondering if something horribly traumatic happened on my birthday and I, therefore, avoid acknowledging its existence?”

“…yeah.”

They inhaled deeply, briefly wishing for a cigarette. “No. But if you must know, there wasn’t much time for such things when I was growing up. Not much was done for birthdays. Children would get something but as one got older…” they shrugged, “maybe a drink. Maybe a break in work. But usually nothing. It was better to put resources toward community holidays, like Yule.”

He’d moved to rubbing their knees and, as a result, Bloodhound began slowly metamorphosing into a puddle. They glanced at him, his brow knit in contemplation, eyes trained on the ceiling. It was a rather lovely look on him, turning to striking when they saw the contemplation turn to realization, like when he would get a good idea for his holotech, one that he _knew_ would work. This concerned them. “How abooooout,” he said, leaning over the couch some, starting to massage down their thighs, “I just make you dinner. I promise I won’t get you anything else.”

They eyed him, searching for the ace up his sleeve, but his face was open and genuine. “Nothing else?”

“If you really don’t want me to, I won’t.”

They paused, then sighed. _Dinner wouldn’t be bad_. “Fine. Dinner.”

“Yay!” He threw his hands in the air and then leaned further so his hips balanced on the back of the couch and he could peck them on the lips. They hooked their ankles behind him, meaning to just trap and tease him, but ended up pushing him a little too far and instead he fell over them and they both slid off the couch and banged their heads on the coffee table.

Over the next few weeks Bloodhound noticed Elliot carrying on little conversations with the other Legends and, maybe they were imagining it, but they always seemed to dissipate when they got closer. Nobody acted any differently around them, and when they finally asked Elliot about it, he claimed it was just preparation for Octavio’s birthday-some big drug and alcohol filled bananza to take place on the Mirage Voyage, since the Apex Officials denied them the use of the resident ship rooftop. “I didn’t say anything ‘cause I know it’s not your thing.”

That was true, and the thing was, they actually believed him. Elliot wasn’t the best liar, so Bloodhound had never really had to learn how to tell when he was _really_ dedicated to something. They had never known that if he wanted to, if he felt _confident_ , he could lie.

This led to the morning of the 23rd. They woke before him, carefully slipping from beneath the covers and setting the coffee to go-he’d filled the water and filter the night before, after they went to bed, leaving a sticky note with a heart on it. They went to their altar and kneeled, setting the candles and the incense. Artur brought a bit of juniper from his nest and placed it on the offering plate before Allfather’s feet, carved of ash wood. They placed a shot of brennevin with it, said their prayer and did their stretches until the coffee was ready, putting out the candles and leaving the incense to burn. He came behind them a few minutes after they sat down with their mug, arms draping around their shoulders as he left a lingering kiss on their cheek. “Happy birthday, love.”

They smiled softly, leaning their head back to kiss him. “Thank you.”

“Before you ask, I really didn’t get you anything,” he pouted while saying this, holding out his hand, one with a mug of coffee in it.

“You’re sweet.” They kissed him again, laughing into it, and that seemed to do away with the pout.

The other Legends wished them happy birthday as well; no one knew how old they were, just that it was their birthday. The day went on as usual from there, Bloodhound ending up on a team of two randoms. They were nice enough, and one was actually competent. The other reminded them of Mirage before the second season and that funny little interview where they’d called him a _miklimunnr_ -a loud mouth. Before they knew how much they could like his voice.

The battle was long, and when they looked at the eliminations chart, they found they were the only Legend left; the rest had been eliminated, all by a mid-tier player that the Allfather was smiling upon, evidently. But Bloodhound was confident in the backing of their Gods in battle and flew at him unafraid and eager at the prospect of such a sacrifice to the Allfather. In the end they were victorious, and as they stood on the champion’s platform, they found themself thinking, _this was a lovely gift, Odin, thank you._ They liked to think of the distant call of a raven as _you’re welcome._

They returned to the dropship to much praise which they humbly accepted, noticing a lack of Elliot before figuring he was in the dorm working on his tech or something. They got in, taking off their mask and inhaling the air. “Elliot?”

“Oh, hey babe!” He came out of the bedroom, which was strange. They only used it to sleep in. He kissed them, allover bouncy. “You were _amazing_.”

“Thank you. Are you up to something?”

He smiled, looking up at the ceiling. “Me? No, nothing, never.”

They sighed. “You got me something, didn’t you.”

“Maaaaaybe.”

“Ugh, Elliot-“

“C’mon you’ll like it -just sit down okay?”

They huffed but did so, their annoyance clear on their face. They knew he was being sweet but bloody damn, they didn’t much like remembering a day that was supposed to be special but always felt like nothing. But that he’d lied, and lied so well, was what really annoyed them. When he did finally come back with a small package, they thought _well at least that._ They were still careful unwrapping it, out of respect for his beautiful wrapping job, but they rather unceremoniously picked the lid off the box, holding it at a dismissive angle while peering in.

They laughed loudly, plucking out the rustic wooden sign that just said NOTHING. “Oh my goodness, it’s exactly what I wanted!”

He laughed too, bending down to kiss them. “I told you I knew you’d like it! And I wasn’t lying, cause it’s nothing!”

“Yes, yes, it is nothing,” they chuckled, giving a love boop before he pulled away and standing the little sign up on the coffee table. But Elliot was still standing a little stiffly, almost nervous, at which point they crossed their arms and cocked their head at him. They wanted to be annoyed again, but really, they couldn’t; that had been perfect. _And so what if he insists on getting me something? There really isn’t any harm in it, you old dog._ “You were lying, weren’t you?”

“Just a little.” He bit his lip, swaying from side to side on his heels.

“You used that to warm me up, didn’t you?”

“Yes, _and_ because I knew you’d like it.”

They leaned against the back of the couch, arms crossed, one leg over the other, and nodded. “Go on, then. Woo me.”

His face cracked into a grin. “Oh, you will be _wooed_. Cause I know, for fact, that you’re gonna love it, because you talk about it all the time.”

This piqued their interest. “Do I?”

“Oh _boy_ do you!” He disappeared to the bedroom while Bloodhound pondered what on _Earth_ he could be hiding. He came back with a lidded box with a bow and white paper covered in red polka-dots, carrying the box with great care to the table. Artur was as interested as Bloodhound, perching at the corner of the coffee table. “Go ahead, open it!”

“You’re vibrating, dear,” they joked, plucking the top off.

There was three times in Bloodhound’s life that they could remember squealing in joy. The first was when their uncle had made them their own sled when they were eight. The second was looking themself in the mirror after their first kiss, the squeal coming once they processed that it had really happened. The third was when Elliot said I love you when he got stuck hanging upside down from the ginkgo tree where they’d had their first date.

The fourth was now, when they lifted the top of the box and up popped the head of a familiar, crème colored, brown speckled, pink nosed, fluffy eared wiener dog. Their hands flew to their mouth as they squealed, glancing between Elliot and the dog, a puppy they’d absolutely fallen in love with at a shelter show at a pet store in Yelan, to the point of tears (and no, Elliot had not let them live that down). But dogs weren’t allowed on the dropship-yet here he was, doing his best to get out of the box with his adorable little legs.

They were almost crying, laughing because they didn’t know what else to do, picking up the puppy and bringing him to their chest. Like he had when they first picked him up he licked their hand gently and seemed just far too content to be in their arms. “Oh Gods, Gods,” they were saying while looking at him and then looking up at Elliot, who was literally bouncing and whooping.

“Told you you’d like it!”

“H-How-”

“I told everyone, and we all gave the Officials hell so now dogs 30 pounds and under are allowed! Surprise!”

They got up and grabbed him in a tight, giggly joyful hug, with thankful kisses and I-love-you’s breathed against his neck. They felt ridiculous, a great bubbling pot of surprise and a strange, all consuming, silly happiness. They pulled back, hand resting at the back of his neck while they cradled the puppy with one arm. Artur hopped up on their shoulder and for a moment they were afraid he would bite, but he leaned his head down and started preening the fluffy ears before losing interest and nibbling at their earlobe. The puppy wagged its tail while looking like it had absolutely no idea what was happening.

They rubbed at their eyes with the heel of their palm. Elliot handed them a tissue. “Y-you’re never going to top t-this.” They teased; voice strained.

“Hey, long as I give you one good birthday, I can live with that.” He grinned.

They both looked down at the puppy at this moment, standing close together, watching him watch the world and petting-he was extraordinarily soft. They put him down and they watched him roam. “Rjómi.”

“What does that mean?”

“Crème.” They let out a puff of laughter.

“I think it’s cute.”

“Just like him.”

“Our fi-second, _second_ son,” Elliot corrected himself, pointedly in the direction of Artur. “Second son.”

“Second son.” They agreed.

“I’m still making you dinner.”

They shook their head. “Elliot, I swear.”  
“What? Got a whole family to feed,” he gestured out jokingly, the words stirring a funny feeling in Bloodhound. One that prompted them to lift their hand to his chin and turn it, just slightly, so they could look at him, the thick curls of a beard begrudgingly allowed to grow against the Talos cold, the faint impression left by the nose pads of his reading glasses that he’d gotten tangled in his curls more than once, big, russet colored eyes that hid gold flecks except in very stark light; the little quirk at the corners of his lips when he was curious, questioning-like he was right now. Their mouth felt inexplicably dry.

“I love you,” they said.

He gave them an odd look, a tilt of the head. “I love you too, honey.”

They kissed him again this time, and a half-quelled laugh spilled from his lips against theirs, making them giggle and kiss him more, eliciting the same response from him, bringing on a playful battle of quick bubbly pecks and attempted passionate breath-stealers that turned into silly half-lip-half-cheek smooches, interrupted by dodges back and half-hearted pushing until Elliot declared them caught, pushing them into the door with a real, deep, sweet press of the lips; and all Bloodhound found themself hoping in that moment was that he knew, with every chuckle, every half-missed smooch and teasing jibe and push and giggle against his lips, how much they meant it when they said I love you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't ever get someone a pet as a present unless you've discussed it at length that they even want one and know they are fully prepared to take care of one
> 
> Outside of my psa do you know how hard it was not to give Bloodhound a bloodhound?


	8. I'm Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bloodhound invites Elliot out on an expedition to find the dangerous creature known as a Fang. Not because they like him or anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elliot is one smooth motherfucker, a'ight.

Bloodhound shouldn’t have been surprised how quiet Elliot was on his feet. He was nearly in tandem with them, weaving around trees and bushes, rustling leaves with his passing body almost as little as they did, not yet stepping on a stray branch or stone-a stupid amount of people did that, it was sort of embarrassing. When first observing it they’d noted, “you are far defter on your feet than I would have suspected, _felagi_.”

His head whirled around to look at them, eyes a rich russet brown, not that they’d noticed the exact shade or anything. “Hey thanks!” They winced at how loud he was-he could be quiet, long as he wasn’t talking. “Kind of comes with the whole trickster thing, y’know?”

They colored under their mask, because of course, who had ever heard of a clod-footed trickster? The only way they could see him when he vanished in the ring was if he was running in the dirt, and then the clouds from his feet were far smaller than most other Legends. “I know,” they said, rather quickly, cursing themself when he looked away and chuckled nervously, mumbling, _“right, right”_ as they slipped under the joining arms of a sticker bush. They let him take their hand as they helped him through. “There is no need to fear these bushes, _felagi_.”

“I know I just, you know, don’t wanna mess up my hair.”

They couldn’t help but snort. “Leave your vanity at your table, Mirage. We are hunting. Did I not tell you to prepare?”

“I am prepared, see? I got a backpack!” He threw his hands up, grinning like a child.

“But does it have what I asked you to put in there?”

“Yeah, you gave me a list. I know how to follow a list-man, my mom loves lists. She had a list for everything when I was a kid, she’s super organized and I’m super not, but now I am ‘cause, y’know, the lists. You use lists a lot too?”

What did this have to do with packing equipment? Or hunting a dangerous animal? Yet they found themself responding, when they should have been telling him to quiet down. “I keep lists in my head, mostly.”

“Oooh, good memory, nice. Why your head?”

They said it aloud before they could stop themself, “where else am I supposed to put it, my ass?”

He threw his head back and laughed, startling some nearby birds. “Good point!”

Their face felt red hot and they mumbled that the Fang might be close, when in fact it was not. The trail here was old-not too old, but they’d yet to reach fresher tracks. They continued their pursuit, Elliot now quiet but for the occasional humming of old rock songs. _“You, hunting?”_ Ajay had said in surprise when Elliot told her and Bangalore of the hunting trip.

_“Yeah!”_

_“I think the closest I’ve seen to you hunting is searching for Doritos when you’re hungover.”_

_“One, you’re right and I hate that, two, shut up.”_ They’d swallowed their laugh then, seemingly too far to overhear the group if it weren’t for the fact none of them were known to be quiet. _“But seriously we’re gonna go after something called a Fang that’s like, completely messing with the town south of here.”_

 _“And you asked Hound to take you with?”_ Ajay had questioned.

 _“They invited me to, actually._ ” He’d sounded so excited. So surprised. It made their heart do a funny pitter pat that they ignored.

 _“Huh, you two have been hanging out a lot, haven’t you?_ ” Bangalore said.

_“Yeah. They’re honestly super cool and like, I think we’re friends? I dunno guys, they just kinda started talking to me.”_

_“Must like you,”_ Ajay had said.

His wonder came out then, _“I can’t imagine why.”_

I can’t imagine why.

 _Because you are entertaining, hálfviti._ They thought, turning and helping him up a rock ledge, smiling beneath their mask at the offer to buy them dinner-one that had come so many times in the past weeks.

He stopped in the middle of the trail and they almost lost him, turning back in time to see him pick up a worm and move it out of the trail, and then pause again a moment later to do the same for a snail before continuing. _Because you are kind._

They had arrived at the peak of a hill overlooking the autumn forest, an unnatural addition to this part of Solace, but installed and maintained artificially to give break from the otherwise desert landscape. It also made a suitable habitat for the Fang, a creature native to the shaded jungles of Leviathan. It was not far, by their estimations, but they had been hiking for hours and decided to break for lunch.

Upon the announcement, Elliot flopped directly onto the dust below him. He pulled out a bandana and wiped his sweat-sheened face. “Man, how the hell do you do this in all your gear?”

They chuckled, sitting on a rock beside him, sliding off their pack and opening it. “Do something frequently enough and you get used to it,” they said, pulling out a container and popping the lid, Artur appearing instantly. They set the Tupperware of mouse, lettuce and noodles on the ground beside them, Elliot giving it a rather disgusted look before digging into his own lunch. Bloodhound paused, seemingly looking at the view, but really bracing themself before, with some clicks, pulling off their mask. Elliot didn’t hesitate to look, or to smile, casually, like it wasn’t a big deal.

It was refreshing. Even if their nerves still tingled at being exposed to someone they regularly worked with. The blabbermouth who couldn’t keep a secret even if his life depended on it had been one of the few in years they’d come to trust. Elliot Witt kept many secrets, about himself and his family, the things he’d seen and heard. He’d told them, once, with half a bottle of some obscure, expensive whiskey between them on the rooftop of the Apex residential tower. Even Bloodhound had shuddered at some of the things he said, but they took his words and kept them, and he kept theirs.

 _Because you are trustworthy,_ they thought.

Silence was allowed to grow for a moment until Elliot pointed to a bird overhead. “Wonder what that is?”

“Peregrine falcon. A transplant from North America. No picking fights, Artur.”

Artur squawked indignantly.

“Oh, right you know all about nature and stuff!”

“And stuff.”

He laughed, picking up a bit of a weed, one that looked laced together. “I’ve always wondered what this is.”

“Queen Anne’s Lace is the common name. You will often find it with clover, it tends to blanket the areas it lives in.”

He raised his eyebrows, grinning. “Rad. Are you kind of a living plant and animal ID-uh, ID-er?”

“I suppose.”

“Cool! Can I like-if I talk really quiet can I ask you what stuff is, because, like, there’s so much here that I don’t even know. I’ve seen it before, but that doesn’t mean I know what it is, y’know?”

They chuckled with a mouthful of sandwich, almost choking. “Sure.”

They finished up and walked on, and Elliot, true to his word, would lean in frequently and whisper-what flower is this, what’s the difference between red and gray squirrels, are there different breeds of snails? What types of trees are these? Is this butterfly poisonous? At one point they found a long abandoned birds nest and Bloodhound found themself pointing the structure out to Elliot-how the bird would have weaved the sticks and leaves together, made it waterproof with mud, his eyes attentive, questions blurting out between their sentences.

They watched him twirl the nest around and hold it up to the light, mouth hanging open slightly, speckled light hitting his face through the trees. He looked back at them and got a bit of a look on his face that they didn’t recognize. “What’s up?”

They blinked. “What?”

He bit down on his lip, against a smile that shown with lopsided charm and made a certain fluttering feeling burst into their belly. “Nothin’ I guess, you’re just smiling kind of doofy.”

“Oh, I just, you just, uh,” they forgot they weren’t wearing their mask, _they’d never put it back on oh Gods._ “You looked like you’re enjoying yourself,” they muttered, and maybe it was too obvious, but they pulled their mask on after that, focusing themself on the hunt. They followed the trail a half dozen more miles before it ended, then scouted the area, watching the trees but seeing nothing.

“What’re we doing?” He said, blessedly at a whisper.

“It’s nearby. On your guard.”

He grinned, pulling out the long knife they’d lent him. “Oh yeah, it’s stabby time.”

They reflexively put their hand over their mouthpiece, which of course did nothing to stifle the laugh. “Do not be so eager, this is a creature of great strength and beauty. We must respect it as much as we fear it, revere it in the act of the kill, it has led a life as worthy as any person.”

“Y’know, sometimes you sound like you talk right out of a book, like in a good way.”

“Hush,” they said, turning their head slowly, the comment electrifying. “We need to be quiet.”

They heard his mouth snap shut and turned to nod at him before stalking around the area where the tracks had ended. It was so strange, they ended here, but there was no evidence of the Fang in the trees, and no new tracks outside of the area. Where in the world had it gone?

“Uh, Blood-”

“Shh.”

“Bloodhound there’s a-”

“Elliot, what did I sa-”

They ate the dirt, approximately 150 pounds of deadly mammal currently digging its claws into their shoulders. With a holler they pushed themself up and rolled on their back, sending the Fang jumping away; the head of a round cheeked jaguar, fang fully out, gleaming in the sunlight. Its body was long, with powerful haunches and arms that were more like a bats, including the wings. It hissed, like water in a hot pan, and launched itself at them. They ducked, the Fang gliding overhead and wrapping itself around a tree opposite. Their knife was at hand, stance low. Elliot was off to the side, gripping his knife with both hands, stunned stiff. It had come from the rocks above, part of the range of hills.

Their skin stung where it had dug in the claws. The Fang flew at them again and they ducked, knife out, slicing the thin leather of the wing and inducing a cry. Now unable to glide the creature dropped to all fours, stalking around Bloodhound, launching and then reeling back, launching and reeling, almost like it was baiting them.

Elliot was only watching, and they didn’t blame him. Honestly it might have been hugely irresponsible for them to bring him on this trip, but no time to take that back. They lunged, knife ready-a single stab into the eye would go directly to the creature’s brain, practically painless. They’d done it a thousand times before, they knew the stance, the moves almost robotic they’d done them so frequently.

They slipped.

They _fucking slipped._

It twisted them onto their back and the beast was on them, punctuated simultaneously by a blood curdling scream from Elliot and the searing pain of the creature’s fang jabbing into the meat of their arm. They grunted, the poison coiling its way through their system immediately, a feeling like their blood was boiling drawing a scream from their throat. The venom, the nails in their chest, the weight of it upon them. They pushed desperately against the beast, but their hands were spasming, arms shaking.

They were going to die.

They weren’t sure if it was from the weight of the beast on their lungs, the poison, or maybe blood loss if it got its way.

They had gasped, thinking they might as well go out with air in their lungs, but then there was a glint above them, a yowl, and the fang was off, hissing, growling. They blinked, each movement burning and shuddering and painful, but there he was: Elliot, knife in hand, looking scared shitless but just as angry. The beast was bleeding from the neck. It went for him but passed right through.

It stood in place, pupils dilated, ears twitching in every direction as it tried to figure out what the fuck was going on. Elliot appeared beside it, looking just as scared as his decoy had, and swiftly drove his knife through its eye. The Fang dropped soundlessly and Elliot, not pausing to breathe, was at their side with the needle and the antidote they’d packed. “Hound? Hound you good?” He injected them, watching their face.

Cool ice replaced the fire in their veins almost immediately, and they gasped. “Y-you really did r-read the list.”

He huffed. “You dumbass.”

They couldn’t stop the smile. _You are courageous._

They made camp at a river that passed through the range of hills. Bloodhound was laid up against a rock, stripped down to their bra and pants. They had wanted to keep their shirt on, but they could barely move their arms on account of the scratches all over their upper torso, which had to be cleaned. “You’re _sure_ we don’t need to call anybody?” Elliot asked for the fifteenth time.

“Yes,” they said. He was cleaning the jagged claw marks-he really had packed everything they asked him to, the extra alcohol doing well to get rid of what little neurotoxins came from the front paws of the Fang. “Fang venom is a simple matter to recover from.”

“I guess,” he mumbled, dabbing at this cut or that cut. He smelled like a mix of dirt and honey, a warm summer kind of smell that they really had to resist leaning into. Not like they really had to lean, he was sort of, uh, _right there._

“You did phenomenally.”

“I was scared out of my wits. Ha, get it?”

“I get it,” they smiled. “You performed with cunning and grace, I’m as impressed as I am thankful.”

“Aw stop it, you’re gonna make me blush.” _Make you blush?_ Had he not noticed their face, or their neck or their entire chest and shoulders? They were red as a tomato, an awfully patchy tomato; they did not blush prettily, but Elliot, who was blushing right now, did. An elegant spread of muted redness across the cheeks as he leaned in to bandage the fang-hole, more collected than they had ever recalled him being. They were almost envious. But he was touching them, softly and carefully, close as can be. It was like when he worked with his holotech, they realized, the same delicate treatment he reserved for one of the most precious things in his life. That funny feeling in their stomach got worse as they thought, _you are gentle._

Bloodhound regained themself adequately enough to dress the Fang about a half hour after Elliot had finished bandaging them. They’d put their shirt back on but otherwise disregarded their equipment, instead showing Elliot just how field dressing went. He kept glancing at them as they worked, a hint of worry in his brow, but he mellowed as they kept going, absolutely refusing to touch any of the organs and squealing when Bloodhound mimed like they were going to take a bite out of the heart.

They removed the head-the trophy required to collect their bounty-and then skinned the body, again showing Elliot how to clean the pelt. His endless curiosity was a boon to Bloodhound, who never had someone so interested who wasn’t already a hunter. The carcass was disposed of a mile off for wilderness to take, and they returned to the river, both covered in blood.

Elliot had absolutely zero reservations regarding nudity. Every Legend had seen him naked at least once, for varying reasons, Bloodhound’s being he couldn’t find towel or clothes coming out of the locker room and had simply taken the elevator, which Bloodhound tried to catch the next floor up. He’d been polite enough to apologize, at least. Bloodhound, on the other hand, obviously had quite a few reservations regarding themself. It wasn’t bashfulness so much as it was the need to protect themself, the security they found in being covered, and maybe some inherent sort of modesty instilled in them by their parents.

Either way, seeing him strip and drop into the cold water with a squeal made that funny feeling come back to their stomach. _Butterflies, that’s what those are_ They felt a sudden compulsion, hitherto unseen. Elliot turned, the water lapping at his hips. “Hey sorry, just kinda, jumped in-I can go start dinner?”

Maybe it was the neurotoxins that made their heartbeat like that, like a war drum, pounding against the tranquil day. And maybe it was a bit of madness from those neurotoxins that made them do it, made them pull off their shirt, their pants, stand before him in blood stained undergarments a half minute before removing those, too. Had them saying to his slack jawed awe, “I think we are in equal need of a bath, _vinur,”_ as they stepped into the water and sank to their chin.

He gaped for a moment, then shook it off. “Yeah, one hundred percent,” he said, voice only tremoring a little before he cleared his throat. They watched his face through the curtain of their hair, washing themself. He was soon talking, faster than he usually did with them, stumbling over some words-but it was still just Elliot talking, the comforting drone of his voice. They found themself responding soon enough, almost as if they weren’t naked. _You make me feel comfortable doing new things._

Dried and in fresh clothes, Elliot cooked while Bloodhound finished setting everything out to dry. They had their tents up in the clearing, below the star painted sky, a moon bright enough they could see without the fire. They ate, and talked a little, Artur turning in to nest on Bloodhound’s sleeping bag. A breeze swept by, making Elliot shiver. “Man, I’m cold.”

“I told you to bring a jacket.”

“I did,” he nodded into his sports jacket. Bloodhound had their usual coat, thick and fur lined. And quite large… But they didn’t say anything, until he complained again, drawing his knees up to his chest.

“If you’re so cold we can share my jacket,” they said, adding a joking lilt so they could recover if needed, but Elliot perked up and started scooting over. Unsure how they weren’t shaking, they unzipped their coat and shrugged off the arms and then there he was, his side flush with theirs, the coat laying over them at an angle due to his shorter frame.

“Thanks,” he said after settling, shooting them a grin. They mumbled something, hoping he couldn’t see that god-awful blush in the firelight, looking up to distract themself from his warm body-

Wait. _Warm_ body.

They glanced at him, narrowing their eyes. He looked away from the stars with an inquisitive raise of his eyebrow. “You’re very warm, Elliot.”

His mouth slowly drew up into a half smile. “Seems I am.”

 _You’re mischievous._ “You lied to me.”

“Why Hound, I’m insooted-insint-hurt at such an accusation.”

He was so close, a furnace. They slid their arm from between them, planting it on the ground behind his back so they were nearly facing him, voice low. “If you wanted to cuddle, you could have just asked.”

The firelight highlighted his lips as they turned into a grin. “Where’s the fun in that?”

They chuckled, shyly leaning their head against his as he relaxed into them. They were quiet, looking up at the stars. They slid an arm around him, resting on his waist. He moved out of it, and they frowned until he shifted to the side and scooted back, between their legs until he leaned into them, back against their chest, tilting his head and smirking. “I think it’d be easier to keep warm like this, dontcha think?”

“Y-yeah,” they stammered, making him laugh. They hesitated only a moment before wrapping their arms around him, chin on his shoulder. He still smelled like honey. He drew their coat loosely around both of them, enclosing them in a ball of warmth. They bit their lip. “I think it is I that owes you dinner, Elliot.”

“Oh really?”

“You saved my life.”

“I guess.” He grinned a little. “You know I was scared but…it was kind of awesome.”

“The thrill of the hunt captures many.”

“I can see why.” He looked at them. “Makes for a great first date.”

They bit down their surprise, though they were sure it shown like a spotlight on their face. His lips smoothly rose into a gentle smile and he sat up. Their noses almost touched, and the moonlight framed him in a way that made him glow, like the outline of one of his decoys. But there was nothing artificial about the Elliot Witt sat in front of them, the one which was warm, and sweet and turning to lean into them sideways. The one who had gold flecks in his eyes that glowed like little suns against the silver of moon and the red of the fire. The one that had subtly snaked his hand up till it rested on their cheek. They put their own hand to his, a cold palm to hot knuckles, and found a voice in their last reason for seeking out his company, an all encompassing word that meant everything and anything, and when they thought of Elliot, it meant both. And they wanted him to know, truly, that they weren’t just talking about his looks when they said, “you are beautiful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BH is a sap and Elliot ready to clap. Is it his hands or them cheeks? More at 11.


	9. I just Like It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bloodhound tries to distract Elliot when his brain starts wandering on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo I am taking any and all suggestions for future chapters on this y'all. I have a lot of fun with this haha. 
> 
> This one was a real sort of melancholy happy and it took me a while to finish. Loss is hard, y'all, loss is hard. Bloodhound and Elliot have plenty to go around.

“Rum and coke, rum and coke, rum and coke. I thought a bartender would have a more varied taste,” Bloodhound said over their beer.

“I just like it. Thought someone as educated as you might have better taste,” he countered.

“Educated? I never went to school.”

“No, but you read textbooks bigger than my head for fun.”

“Bah.” They sipped their drink. “I like this beer.”

“It’s shitty beer. Like, the shittiest of shit beer.”

“You, krútt, are a snob.”

“Thank you.”

They rolled their eyes, downing the rest of the beer. Elliot did the same with his drink, glancing at the dance floor and nodding toward it. Being they were three beers in, Bloodhound was more than happy to go; they weren't exactly the best dancer, nor did they pursue dancing in the everyday, but Elliot was phenomenal, making them look halfway decent. They liked being pulled against him, weaving with him through the other bodies, pressing kisses to his jaw and whispering sweet things, or naughty things, depending. Sometimes he’d get the upper hand and have them blushing, which they hated because they still believed it looked awful on them, even if Elliot thought otherwise.

But dancing on this night was off. It was still fun, still pulsing with energy, but he missed a couple steps, mumbling about being too drunk even though he’d only had two. At the end of the song he’d suggested they go back to their table, something that usually only happened after another song or two, so it had Bloodhound on alert. He ordered another rum and coke, and they another beer, and nursed the drink while people watching.

Something wasn’t right. He’d been fine until he wasn’t, and it was just the little telltale things-the grip on his drink, the flicker of his eyes back to them, talking but mostly looking at the dance floor or the television screens. He was avoiding focusing on anything, keeping himself surface level distracted. Elliot’s mind would do that to him-one moment it was in the present, and the next the past was encroaching on his sight, vines of it growing over his corneas until he was blinded. And he was so good at hiding it one could almost never tell.

Almost.

They scooted around the booth until they were beside him and leaned their head on his shoulder. He leaned his back, humming. They nuzzled his neck, kissing the junction of his ear and his jaw. He turned his head, smile soft, and linked their hands together. “Sorry, am I not paying you enough attention?”

“Never,” they kissed him. Distracted him.

He leaned into the kiss, tasting like sweetness and rum spice, then pulled away, kissing their cheek and leaning his forehead against their temple, sighing through his nose. They waited a moment before tilting his head back, so he looked at them. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he said. “Mind just wandering again. God, this is stupid, I’m stupid, I’m sor-”

“Shut up.”

“Right, right I,” he stopped himself. His smile was real, but tired. “I guess the vibe just left me. Not the you vibe but the,” he gestured around the bar.

“Let’s go somewhere else then.”

He chewed on that a moment and nodded, finishing his drink and getting up. They went to the outside, the summer air a perfect 75 in the night, sand dusting their ankles as they walked down the sidewalk toward the beach. They kept glancing at him, and it seemed to help a bit, being outside. They made their way to the water and stood where it lapped at their toes, Bloodhound’s white with a little blue butterfly on them, while Elliot had picked out the most obnoxious yellow possible and had the stylist try to draw Pikachu’s face (she did pretty well). They watched the ocean a while, waves of ink foaming at the crest, turning to water at their feet.

“You know, my dad told me humans still haven’t explored all of the ocean on Earth,” Elliot said.

“Really?”

“Yeah. When he was a kid, it was still only about twenty, thirty percent. It was 5 for like, 300 years. And now we’ve put ourselves on dozens, hell, hundreds of planets, with thousands of oceans. How will we ever know what’s out there?”

They wiggled their toes into the sand, letting it cement them in place. “I don’t think we ever will.”

“Ever-ever?”

“Ever-ever. We’re not meant to. Not even the Gods know, and perhaps they never will either. Allfather’s ravens can only travel so far, each day, and without new things to seek, what is the point of going? And without anywhere to go, what is the point of being at all? Still,” they leaned on him slightly, linking their hands together. “It might be nice to know.”

He wet his lips. “It would.”

There was a pause. “I have an inkling you are not talking about the ocean, Elliot.”

“It’s nothing.”

“If you are holding back because it is our anniversary, stop.”

He squirmed and then sighed, sitting in the sand. They sat too, feet popping up from the sand with a wet squelch. “My dad really liked rum and coke,” he said, “like it was the only thing he’d drink, that and really nice whiskey, straight. But he had a rum and coke every day after work. I remember he would sit at the kitchen table in summer with one, in this one striped shirt that was just such a _dad_ shirt, and these bright red cargo shorts Mom hated, and socks with sandals. And he’d sit there and watch me and Elijah color, and he’d put things down, like the saltshaker, and tell us to draw it. Sometimes he’d take us outside and he’d be standing there with his glass and point at a tree and have us both stand in a different place and draw it, different perspectives, y’know? “Always gotta look at it from every angle, boys.”” He stopped suddenly and sighed, resting his fingers over theirs. “I’ve just been…thinking about him a lot.”

A sudden thought came to them. Rum and coke and the lights dimmed with a record on. Rum and coke curled up on the couch with his Switch and Animal Crossing, pulling the blanket back from his face far enough to kiss his forehead. The heavy thud of the door after a long game, followed by the crack of a soda can and the hiss of fizz folding over itself. Rum and coke and the warmth of his breath on their ear as they curl together on the roof of the dropship to watch the stars, he reciting all the constellations his brothers taught him. “It’s comfort, isn’t it. The drink.”

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I mean I do just like it, but…yeah. It reminds me of him. He died when I was ten. When I went to school that morning, I had a dad, and by the time I got back, I didn’t. It’s just…something he always had, in almost every memory he had a rum and coke in hand-he wasn’t an alchie or anything, he’d nurse the same drink all day practically, but he always had one. And he’d let me have a sip, sometimes, when Mom wasn’t looking.” He smiled, leaning on them, letting himself be supported for a moment. “So when I got older I just…started drinking them when I was stressed or sad or whatever. I wasn’t that, tonight, for the record!” He quickly turned to them, but they only smiled and patted his thigh. “I-I really wasn’t, not tonight, never I just-…he just came to mind a lot.”

“Why, do you think?” They talked normally, even though it felt wrong to speak against the quiet moment. The waves were too loud to whisper.

He fidgeted, clasping the hand they had on his thigh. “Because I’ve been thinking about you. About what he would have said, meeting you. I wish he could. G-God Hound, I wish he could meet you. I wish you could meet him. I wish he could see h-how,” he stopped, covering his mouth, breath stuttering, “h-how happy you make me.”

Was it sea spray or tears in their eyes? They leaned forward, wrapping their arms around him, let him pull them by the waist into his lap. This brought a huge glob of wet sand into his lap as well, but this detail was not a priority in the face of a tearful kiss. He rubbed at his eyes with the inside of his sleeve, sniffing, but smiling. “God, I’m so-“

“Don’t,” they warned, lips so close to his cheek they could feel it when he smiled. They kissed his cheek, nuzzling, and they sat in the hum of the sea for a moment, holding and being held, melding. They breathed deeply. “I wish my uncle could have met you.” He shifted his head, looking at them intently. They were half draped on him, angling themself to lay their head on his shoulder. “I wish he could have seen that his little hunter did follow the path of the Gods and became happier than they ever thought possible. I wish he could see he had nothing to worry about. That he wasn’t the last person in the world who would care about me. I know he worried that.”

“I would have liked to meet him.” Elliot said.

“And I would have liked to meet your father. But, Elliot,” they sat up now, caressing his cheek, resting their thumb over the scar below his eye. “I don’t know how much comfort it is to you, but I think they have seen us. In some way, they’ve watched, and in some way, they know that we are happy. We are finally _happy._ Imperfectly happy.”

His smile slowly spread and he leaned his forehead against theirs. “I dunno. Feels pretty perfect right now.”

“That’s the rum talking, sweetheart.”

“I know.” He tilted his head up. “You really think they know?”

They copied him. They watched the stars shimmer and blink. Fathomless. “I do,” they whispered, the sound lost to the waves. “I really do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also got a tumblr @kittymsmithwrites where I post dumb apex memes and also updates on things like Serendipity and Secret Passion Project. lmao
> 
> Anyway I hope y'all liked it. Thanks so much for the reviews and kudos, they're a huge boon to my heart.


	10. I'm Not Ticklish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elliott's not ticklish, which frustrates poor Bloodhound, who is possibly the most ticklish human in the Frontier. But here's the thing:  
> Elliot lies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a bit of a disclaimer, I have done some research but not a toooooon into Alzheimers and based this largely off of:
> 
> 1\. Secondhand experience from friends and my mother, who worked with Dementia and Alzheimer's patients in nursing homes in the 80s
> 
> 2\. Again, some mild research on my part, these diseases can be a little complicated and I wish to represent it reasonably accurately, but the keyword of "reasonable" is that I am in no way a medical professional and the nuances of these diseases are, well, there's a lot. Everyone's different, all patients are different, etc. 
> 
> 3, my savior probably lmao: the supposition that, given everything in Apex/Titanfall is 700yrs in the future, that there has been a development of medications that could SIGNIFICANTLY prolong the life/memory of Alzheimer's patient, and possibly lead to things like random extended periods of lucidity and greatly reduce the period of time in which a patient has truly lost all their memory. 
> 
> Otherwise, I hope y'all enjoy this. I tried to make it real based off of the accounts of people close to me and my own experience with sick family (not Alzheimer's but it applied)
> 
> Thank you so, so, so much for kudos and reviews. It's really gratifying to know I'm providing something people enjoy. This one-shot set is a bit of an escape for me sometimes, and I hope y'all get the same out of it, if you need it.

Elliott Witt wasn’t ticklish and it drove Bloodhound absolutely bonkers, because they were _very_ ticklish and Elliot knew it. The worst was the bottoms of their feet, their belly and their sides, and their neck. But also the back of their knees, their thighs, hips, between their shoulder blades, under their chin-basically everywhere if one knew how to drag their fingers across it, and boy did Elliot really have that figured out.

They’d be walking toward the mini-fridge and suddenly feel a ghost of a hand on the back of their knee and squeal, and then he would laugh, and laugh and fucking _laugh_. A neck massage could turn into a finger trap in a second. He’d learned how to sit when rubbing their knees so he could tickle them without losing a tooth. He seemed to get the greatest glee from torturing them, and they let him because they were _weak_ for the apology kisses, the little teasing jokes, the gentle, non-tickling caresses. And because they knew they could be quite a shit too.

Stealing his shampoo and conditioner, and his clothes (even though they hardly fit-really, he should appreciate the view), their gratifying habit of running a finger up the back of his spine, and their teasing-they were quite bad about that in game, when the cameras weren’t around. Sometimes just jokes and jabs, but other times their teasing got a little more intimate, just because they loved his graceful blush, how cute he was trying not to smile, the flash of annoyance when they knew they were really getting to a (certain part) of him. “I have to wear compression shorts because of your ass,” he’d said once, after a game in which they’d pestered him for the pure satisfaction of a flustered huff out his nose.

“You can’t even see my ass in the ring,” they’d said, hooking a leg around his knee and pulling him so he fell on all fours on the bed, leaning over them. “Though I know you’re thinking about it.”

“Mm, is that what I’m thinking about?” And he’d teased their sides, just enough so that it didn’t tickle, just made them shiver.

“I’m betting,” they’d said, and smiled into the kiss, and angled their head with a soft chuckle when he went to their neck.

“Well, I’m thinking of something else, too.”

“Mhm?”

“Revenge.”

And then his hands were all over their belly, tickling without mercy, making them squeal and gasp and try to wiggle away until they eventually called uncle, called him an asshole, and then continued with what they were doing.

It was an exchange, but it still bothered them. They’d tried his feet, under his arms, his sides, belly, back, hell one time they’d tried to tickle his butt but all that did was make him look at them weird. Every single inch of Elliott Witt was absolutely tickle proof and it would be the death of them, as they told Rjómi. The puppy almost seemed to nod, and Bloodhound imagined his voice, still the high pitch of a child, saying, _you’re totally screwed, Mabbie._ Artur seemed to agree.

They could only hope the Gods were merciful. _Give me something. Please._

* * *

Sometime in summer Elliott took time off to go visit his mother, and in accordance Bloodhound also took absence, though their official reason was for an extended hunting expedition. They wanted to support him as much as they could, and he’d tried to dissuade them, to warn them, but they persisted, so in the end, he said he was sorry in advance but in truth he was glad to just have them be there. They told him not to fuss, that they’d meant to meet Evelyn anyway.

She’d forgotten Bloodhound completely from phone calls, but actually recognized Elliott after he spoke, which almost made him cry. She quite liked Rjómi, and Rjómi seemed inclined to cuddle. Medical machines aside she was being taken care of at home, with the best care that could be bought-something that made Bloodhound realize there might have been more to Elliott’s commercials than just plastering his face everywhere (though that was still fifty percent of it). Bloodhound had never spent an extended time with someone with memory loss. Elliott had told them it was a lot different now-that there were drugs that made it so, so, so much slower than it had years ago, more lucid periods, that his mother had actually had extremely early onset for a couple of decades without telling him until some time after he joined the Games. “She wanted to make sure I actually went,” he’d said.

“I think that was probably best.” They’d replied, honestly.

“I hate when you’re right.”

The drugs she was on made it easier, being face to face, as she would usually at least remember Bloodhound was Elliott's partner. “Don’t be hurt, but she probably won’t remember you tomorrow,” Elliott whispered in their ear when his mother was being checked on by a nurse.

They squeezed his hand and assured him they wouldn’t, though it was still jarring to come in the next morning and have her look directly at them and say, “well hi there, stranger!”

And the day after that.

And the day after that.

And the day after that.

She would go on for hours about old things, her technology, or her husband, or her sons. She mostly talked about Elliot when he was ten or younger, about all the mischief he would get into. And she did not heed Elliott’s requests to “please not tell them about the sour cream thing, Mom, ohmygod,” much to Bloodhound’s amusement. She’d flash back into the world sometimes, over the strangest things; the drop of a coin or a scene in a TV show, or things that made more sense like the smell of her favorite beer or old photos, though once it was at the way Bloodhound put the twist tie back on the bread, “exactly like Jackie used to.”

“Jackie?”

“My husband.” She smiled at the kitchen table, in the Solace sun. She wore mostly flower-patterned a-line dresses. Elliott said she’d always dressed like that, with heels. But now she was almost always barefoot, Rjómi sitting over her feet at the moment. “We were married for 23 years.”

“You must have loved him very much,” Bloodhound said.

“I do.” She’d responded, and then looked out the window.

It had been a little over a week, and Bloodhound could not understand how people did this for a living; could not fathom the bottomlessness of their hearts to be able to come each and every day and help someone who would never be able to find where their self had gone. They couldn’t imagine how Elliott had dealt with it so long, completely, utterly, and wholly alone. They could not understand, either, how they were dealing with it, except by the simple fact they had never known the original Evelyn Witt outside of the news and magazine articles toting her brilliance.

There was no other word for it but sad. And the sadness was hard to push away, but they began to see that it wasn’t banished so much as cohabitated with. Elliott still smiled and laughed, and Evelyn too, when briefly realizing who she was and that she'd forgotten everything, had a brilliant sense of humor about it all. “I might have lost my mind, but at least I’ve kept my figure,” she’d said offhandedly, making Bloodhound laugh for the first time in a few days.

They were both getting dressed in Elliott’s old room, above the first floor, when they heard the reverberating clack of heels hitting the hardwood, like pressing a button to release the floodgates. He covered his mouth, not making a sound, while the tears began to build and drop.

“E…Elliott?” They spoke hesitantly, stopping in front of the dresser. He inhaled deeply, swallowed hard and make an “O.K.” sign with his other hand before flopping onto a chair and rubbing his eyes. He took their handkerchief when they offered it, holding it to his face.

“I haven’t heard her heels in two years,” he whispered.

They didn’t know what to do, so they sat by him, shoulder to shoulder, and listened to the echo of Evelyn Witt.

* * *

There was a period of surprising lucidity that coincided with her heels, a sound Bloodhound began to treasure, knowing the joy it brought Elliott. They called them “Heel Days”, where she would remember Bloodhound if they left the room and never forgot who Elliot was or called him by his brother’s names. Questions asked on these days would receive more coherent answers or an answer at all. They usually would end up taking a walk and getting ice cream.

Elliott was preparing dinner while Bloodhound and Evelyn played cards on one of the Heel Days. Evelyn was sipping a small glass of beer; alcohol wasn’t advised for Alzheimer’s patients, but Elliot would let her have a little bit on good days, “let her remember what normal is for just a second, you know?” It was a bit of a game for him and Evelyn, keeping it from the nurses, who played along and turned a blind eye, because who in their right mind tells a dying woman she can’t have a few ounces of her favorite beer if she damn well wants to?

The doorbell rang and Elliot left to answer it, Bloodhound getting up to flip the meat. He came back, chucking a package on a stray chair and hugging them from behind. They tensed, prepared for the tickle attack, but it didn’t come. He simply rested there, head on their shoulder, softly kissing their neck. Breath warm against their skin. They hadn’t had many moments to themselves in the past couple of weeks, and now things almost felt _normal._ He probably needed that. Just the moment.

When the pork chops were seared and ready for the oven, Elliott gave a loving pat on the bum to dismiss them from the stove. “Don’t make Ma wait any longer for you, she’ll peek at your cards.”

“I will not!” Evelyn said indignantly.

“Will too,” Elliot sang, putting the meat in the oven and then going to preparing whatever sides he had going on. Bloodhound chuckled, returning to the game, talking with Evelyn of light topics, the weather and the garden outside, bits and pieces of events she or the nurses wrote down to look at later. Elliot left again to the bathroom and she leaned in conspiratorially. “What I really would like to know, Bloodhound, is what questions you have about Elliott.”

 _What really happened to his father? Where did the scar over his eye come from? How can I help him when the nightmares creep into his sleep?_ But these were things they knew he’d have to tell them himself, whether they liked it or not. Besides, they’d like to keep the mood light. “Well, is there _any_ part of him that’s ticklish?”

 _“Ah_ , his newest victim.”

“Oh no, this is a habit of his?”

“He lords his immunity above all,” she smirked over her glass, glancing to the side. “However…I’ll tell you a secret. He has _one_ tickle spot. Brush a finger sideways over either dimple in his back.”

“Really?”

“Really. Been like that since he was a little boy.”

“You guys talkin’ bout me?” Elliot popped in, making Bloodhound jump.

“Talkin’ about how much of a little shit you were.” She reached up and gently pinched his cheek. He rolled his eyes.

“I was cute.”

“Yes. A cute little shit.”

Bloodhound chuckled, sharing a look with Evelyn as Elliot protested this accusation.

Later, after Evelyn went to bed, the two of them were in the kitchen listening to one of her vintage records and sipping on lemonade spiked with expensive whiskey. The window over the sink was open just right so the wind whistled through the house; Bloodhound imagined it as a stream of white, twirling around the precious objects of humanity on its way into eternity. Elliot said his mom had told him it was his dad stopping by for a visit. “He used to whistle when he came in, to let us know when he got home. I was too old to really _believe_ stuff like that but…I wonder, sometimes.”

“It’s good to wonder. We don’t truly know, do we?”

“I guess we don’t.” He smiled some. He stood up with his drink to refill it, walking past them when the idea came. He was shirtless on account of the heat so they swiped a single finger over the dimple in his back and he squeaked like a mouse, nearly dropping the glass before twirling around, eyes wide. “She told you!”

They were covering their mouth so as to not wake Evelyn, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “What a funny spot.” They reached around to do it again and he jumped away.

“Nope.”

“I love your dimples, but it never worked before,” they went for it again and he jumped further, going to the lemonade pitcher.

“Gotta just brush em right,” he muttered, sidestepping with his back away from them and sitting. He was smiling. Just a bit. “Of all the things she could remember, she had to remember that.”

“I, for one, am very thankful.” They grinned. “we are finally on somewhat even ground.”

“Hey, abuse this newfound power and you’ll never see me shirtless again.”

They snorted. “Oh, you really think I’ll have sex with you when you’re wearing your Minions t-shirt?”

“You had sex with me when I was wearing the Pickle Rick one.”

“Because it had been a month and it’s just a pickle poking out of the pocket with a speech box, not a demonized twinkie. I don’t even know why you keep it.”

“It’s comfyyyy.” They rolled their eyes, smiling over their lemonade while thinking of the MInion's dead eyes being consumed by fire. “Fine, fine. But don’t do it in front of the other Legends, okay?”

“Okay,” they relented. “But I’m beginning to wonder what other little lies you’ve told me.”

He leaned forward, the light striking his face in such a way he appeared almost foxlike. “Seems like you’ll have to find out, dear hunter.”

“Mmm, seems I will,” they leaned forward and tapped his nose. "Trickster.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Tumblr Anon for the lie for this chapter!
> 
> You can talk to me and see fic updates (like on Serendipity, if you're wondering about that) headcanons and other stuff on my Tumblr @kittymsmithwritesstuff


	11. I Can Steer this Boat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Legends get some time off between the 4th and 5th season, and Bloodhound wants to spend it as far away from other people as possible. Elliott Witt doesn't count as other people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its 1:30 in the morning and I want you all to know that Elliott Witt deserves all your flannel. 
> 
> also seriously thanks for the insane support on this. I recognize the chapters have become a little less centered on the lies, but they are still structured around them, even if the lie itself isn't stated until later. Might try starting with the lie like the other chapters next round. 
> 
> Anyway your comments and kudos keeps me going folks. You're dolls, and i hope you enjoy "Bloodhound and Elliott fuck off to the woods for a while because I can't rn"

“If you told me a year ago,” Elliott puffed, clasping his hands over the back of his neck to open his chest to air, “that I’d be hiking however-the-fuck far to a cabin in the woods, and that I was gonna live there, like, I would have called _serious_ bullshit. I’m still calling serious bullshit; I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“I can’t either,” Bloodhound said, “but I am pleased nonetheless.”

“Aw c’mon, you think I’m just gonna spend a month without you?” Bloodhound yelped slightly when he slapped their butt-he jumped out of the way of their own hand. “I think you forgot you’re stupid cuddly and I also love you, like, a lot.”

“I just thought you were too attached to your Switch,” they teased, whistling to summon Rjómi back toward the path. The old growth needle trees made a thick canopy in the spring, the woods brimming with pollen and life and tall grass, which the little wiener dog could get lost in. The only thing distinguishing the path from the rest of the wood was the shorter grass, from Bloodhound cutting it, and occasional stick markers they’d added for if they got really drunk and fell asleep far away from home. They were the prepared sort.

“Babe, you don’t need the internet to play a Switch. And I have a solar powered charger.”

They paused. “Damn it.”

He laughed, falling into step behind them. They supposed they couldn’t complain too much; he _was_ agreeing to stay at their cabin instead of his apartment in the city. They felt a little guilty, perhaps, because they were going to go with or without him-they had been trapped on that dropship for _months_ and while they loved Elliott and the close proximity, truly had done well for the relationship, they wanted to spend the break before next season, which would bring new challenges and a new Legend, as far from other people as possible.

So, the cabin.

They’d built it themself, years ago, in one of only two coniferous forests on Solace’s surface-they were not entirely natural, as the areas to make them had been terraformed and the atmosphere around them modified to the needed long winters and high annual precipitation, but they were self-sustaining. Sanctuaries for certain Earth species, preservations, small areas were tourist spots. But otherwise? Miles and miles of redwood with a circumference bigger than a house, ponderosa and Douglas Fir, sugar pine stretching into oblivion, branches bowing with long close knit cones that would hit the ground in autumn like the Gods themselves were drumming against the Earth. Rivers ran through, deep and shallow, cold as death, babbling near the window. The birds, Artur’s friends and not, at all hours. The darkness but for clearings that held moonlight like a glass of milk.

They loved the city, and technology, and held houses in a few cities. But this place, and places like it, were Bloodhound’s home.

The cabin itself was in an A-frame style with a large porch, made of pine Bloodhound had cleared from where it stood, with a river rock foundation. There was a storage shed and a smokehouse, and a garden, overgrown with mint. They should have never planted that goddamn mint.

“This is so _cute!_ ” Elliott said immediately, making Bloodhound relax as they retrieved the key from under the door mat. The windows were large, but between the trees and the overhang on the roof, the inside was dark. When they flicked on the light Elliott gasped softly. “Oh my _God_ this is so cute!” He dropped his heavy pack by the door and Rjómi ran in, nails skittering against the hardwood.

One big open space, with the wood stove about two thirds in in the center, chimney flush against the partially walled loft. Before the stove was a rather cozy reading area, behind it more of a kitchen with sliding doors to a back porch. Books were covering every wall and most free surfaces, the rest taken up by copies of scrolls and scripture from home, furs and rugs weaved by family. Elliott stopped by one of the windows and brushed his hands over sheer curtains that did nothing to banish light but cast colorful broken glass shadows on the floor. “This is cool!”

“Thank you, I made it,” they said, a little shyer than they would like to be. They hadn’t expected the enthusiasm, though by this point what else should they have expected? They built a good home, and Elliott was enthusiastic about, um, everything.

“Damn babe, is there anything you can’t do?”

“Ride in the back seat of a car without vomiting?”

He chuckled. “I guess.” He continued to run his hands over the silk before wandering forward. “Oh wow, electricity? So, I didn’t need my charger?”

“No, I have a solar generator.” They smiled. “I was just trying to make you leave it behind.”

He gasped, both hands to his chest. “Say no more! My dearest Hound, trying to separate me from my _Switch?_ Shame on you, shame! With all those that depend on me having it in my possession?”

“You’re talking about Animal Crossing.”

“I’m talking about Animal Crossing.” He grinned, holding his hands up while circling around the stove, checking the kitchen-more pine cabinets, stained dark, and countertops of river rock sealed with epoxy. “But I promise I won’t be obsessed with it.”

“Mhm. That one of your little lies?”

He pouted, crossing his finger over his heart. “I swear.” They made a noise-noncommittal, because maybe there was enough tools and random shit in the shed, and enough other things to keep him preoccupied, but if the man wanted to take out a loan from a bastard raccoon, he was going to. They shrugged off all their other gear, and Elliott did too; it was cool in the forest, but still humid summer. He gestured toward the loft, open with a railing, more cheer curtains gathered at the supports. “Where’s the ladder?”

“I made stairs. My knees, you know.” They responded, moving a painting on the wall and grabbing hold of a handle. The stairs pulled out easily, and with the flip of a hatch supports fell from appropriate intervals. Bloodhound adjusted them and then locked them in place. They turned to look at Elliott. “Impressed?”

He snorted, eyes shining. “You read too many mystery novels. What next, a secret room behind a bookcase?”

“Oh, that’s an idea!”

“Oh no,” he said, heading up. It was hotter up there, the entire wall from floor to ceiling windows that looked over a slow slope to the river where Bloodhound had gotten most of the rocks for the foundation. There was a small dock there, a flat-bottomed boat sitting out of the water. “This is gorgeous, what the fuck,” Elliott said. He plopped down on the double bed, one of the few things they’d had help lugging out there. Technically their presence was illegal, but they kept away poachers, hunted invasive species, and helped the ornithologists tag birds, and they also had a lot of knives and guns. So, no one bothered them.

“We can swim in that river. The current is very gentle-I use the boat to float to town and get that which I cannot grow and catch.”

“Oreos?”

“Oreos.”

He smiled, leaning into them as they sat with an arm around his shoulders. “This is nice. Maybe it will be good to take a break.”

“Told you,” they smiled, kissing his temple.

* * *

Elliott didn’t particularly like the lack of internet. They sent letters back and forth, the couple times Bloodhound went on a long expedition, but he wasn’t really enjoying the idea of writing a letter to Renee or something. “It feels too romantic.”

“What, afraid I’ll get jealous?” Bloodhound said mirthfully.

“No, I’m afraid she’d want to join,” he joked. “I’m a little selfish.”

“I am too. Maybe that’s why we work well together.” They said this while setting a log on a stump, twirling the axe in hand. With an unnecessarily dramatic heft, they lifted the axe above their head and dropped it on the log, splitting it in two. They were wearing a tank top and old Levi jeans that hung off their hips, tucked into boots, and they knew Elliott liked the look. _Maybe were both just dramatic._

“Mmmm, maybe.” He was staring as they hefted and cut again. Fires inside were unnecessary during this time of year, but there was a little stone firepit and Elliott thought it’d be fun to eat smores and hot dogs and see how far they could get into a bottle of whiskey. (The answer was always _too far._ )

“It certainly isn’t a matching work ethic.” They noted.

“What?”

They stopped swinging, seeming to draw him from a trance. “You’ve been gawking instead of helping for five minutes.”

“Helping?”

They gestured to the basket of cured meat in his hands. “You were going to put the meat up in the smoke house?”

“Oh right. Meat hooks, hookin’ some meat. Throwin’ some meat up on some hooks. Dead animal just, chillin,” he continued as he opened the door and started hooking the slabs. “Whacha’ doin’, meat hunks? Just _hanging around?_ Me too. Might _swing_ on over to the river later, wanna come? Plan to _hook_ some fish, heheh. Well, you know, if I didn’t suck at fishing. Man, maybe I should write Renee, I’m talking to deer hocks. Unless that’s only ham. Hmm.”

 _By the Allfather,_ they thought, going back to chopping, _I love him more than light._

* * *

Rjómi ran for the ball and came back with a dead rabbit, wagging his tail wildly. Elliott recoiled. “Oh my God, dude! No!”

“Nei, nei,” Bloodhound nudged him away, “good boy, _good booooy!_ A good kill, pup, good,” they knelt, giving him the absolute best pets in the world. The rabbit was quite a nice size, the puppy having only just gotten big enough to really catch something so big.

“You’ve made him a _murder boy?_ ” Elliott said, aghast.

“What, you think I took him out on hunts for company?”

“Uh, _yeah!_ ”

They laughed, ruffling Rjómi’s fur and taking up the rabbit; they turned away before snapping the knee to break the skin and skinning it. They’d done it without thinking last time and Elliot had thrown up all over the fresh laundry. “Maybe that’s so, but he’s made to be a hunter.”

Elliott looked down at the speckled pup, hardly a pup anymore, with blood rimming his lips and chest and a great big doggy smile on his face, and he pet his head. “I still love you, killer.”

Rjómi licked Elliott’s hand, seemingly unaffected by the following squeal.

* * *

The boat was tethered to the dock, steady in the middle of the river. They had filled it with blankets and pillows and were snuggled together, Elliott being the pillow for once, Bloodhound curling their legs around his and a long arm over his torso-he called it their “koala position”. Artur was nesting in a corner. The breeze missed them, a screen of air over their heads because of the sides of the boat, and with it the chill missed them, and the warm night consumed them, curled together in a ball of comfortable heat, slightly drunk and overdosed on sugar and booze and a cigarette or two between them-those forbidden things kept in moderation. But everything in moderation, including moderation.

“I thought there were a lot of stars on Talos,” Elliott whispered. They were louder than the water lapping at the boat sides, but not any more than that. “But this is insane.”

They, the stars, cast a ghostly pallor over their faces, planets and suns and galaxies away, cloistered in swirls, illuminated from behind by clouds of color. Purple and green and milk white. “If you go to where my village is, it’s as bright as this. Maybe brighter.”

“Really?...I’d like to go.”

“Maybe someday.”

“Yeah…I, uh, I’ve never seen you leave to go see them, while we’ve been at Talos.”

They nuzzled into his shirt. Elliott smelled like pine now, and sweet summer air, his cologne and coffee and sweat. He’d stolen their stereotypical logger flannel and they had accepted they’d never get it back, because it was soft against their cheek. “I don’t have much reason to. They are taken care of. They do not need me.”

“But they’re your family, aren’t they?”

“Yes, they raised me, but Artur was my only blood left and…” they adjusted themself to be more on their back than they had been, looking up. “And few found peace with technology as I have. They are not so phobic of it as Artur, I have managed to get a solar generator out there for certain things, but the older I get…the less connected I feel.” Their voice was barely audible at the end, the admission not one they’d planned on making. They didn’t want to think about the thinning thread between them and home. The fading tarp over their old house or the trophies of his hunts, the headdress and shield. The spot in the closet where there was a box with a pair of his clothes and a lock of hair and a couple of his favorite pieces of jewelry. The rest went with him to Valhalla, but they’d clung to the two rings and the old necklace of flat silver with the birth of the Gods chronicled over its length. He’d used that necklace to teach them the beginning of the world when they were little, to get their mind off their father’s frozen visage, standing, mid run, outside the window that had been the only barrier between them and death.

They were pulled, as if through water, out of their head and to Elliott again, laying on his side with his head propped up by his hand, the other pulling them close. They closed their fingers around the flannel, rubbing the material between their fingers. “I don’t want to think about it,” they said.

“You don’t have to.” He kissed their forehead. They wondered how someone so sweet could rise from ashes as numerous as his. No, wait, it made sense. The more ashes, the mightier the phoenix. “Don’t gotta think about anything you don’t want to. We’re in the middle of the fuckin’ woods. Fuck thinking.”

“You drank too much.”

“Which is just enough,” he said, and dipped to kiss them on the lips.

They hooked the collar of his shirt and gripped it, keeping him close, pursuing him when he pulled away. Suddenly, they really, really didn’t want to think. They pulled on a belt loop until he was sliding over them, the boat rocking slightly, and pressed deeper into the kiss. With warm summer and soft blankets, it was easy to forget about their own ashes, for the time.

* * *

He’d decided to grow his beard out for the new season. Why grow his beard out for _summer_ on Solace they couldn’t fathom, but Elliott wasn’t known for making the _best_ choices on a regular basis. Like right now, sitting in the boat with his Switch. “It’s not like it’s gonna tip over, right?” He said when he caught their eye, and they crossed their arms.

“You never know if it will. And if you lose it, you’ll cry and I don’t like that idea.”

His beard moved with his pout, making it cartoonish. “It’s not like I’m gonna hold it over the side.”

“Honey.” He huffed but held it out, almost dropping it in the water in the process. Bloodhound caught it and stepped back. He had both hands to his heart. “Told you.”

“Yeah, okay,” he said, voice very small.

“Now you’re _sure_ you’ve piloted a boat before?”

“Psh, yeah, plenty of times.”

“You know how to stop it?”

“Yep.”

“And steer and-“

“C’mon, babe, it’s fine. I’m a grown man,” he thumped his hands against his chest for emphasis with a joking grin. “It’s barely a river. I’ll float down and meet you in town. We’ll get drunk as skunks, try to ride this thing upstream, give up and carry it a half mile before we pass out in the grass like the degenerates we are!”

“You have the whole evening planned out don’t you, krútt?”

He slapped his knee. “You’re damn right!”

They couldn’t help but smile. They still weren’t sure about letting him go down the river by himself, but he’d gone with them a couple times. He wanted to try it-they would bet he wanted to prove it to them that he could-and, well, they supposed they’d gone over things enough. He might get bored with just the books, but he’d manage. They got down on their knees, Switch safely to the side, and leaned over to kiss him, chuckling softly. “Scratchy, scratchy,” they tugged at his beard lightly.

He snorted. “Love you too. Can I dramatically cut the rope to send me off?”

“That’s the only rope I have. So, no.”

“Oh, okay. Wait!” He began untying the mooring, holding it by the hook on the boat with one hand and then blowing them a kiss before throwing the rope with a dramatic flare as the current pulled him away. “ _Auf Wiedersehen_ , my darling! I shall weep at the loss of your lovely visage, for it is my only true treasure!” He swung his arms out in a wide gesture before bringing them back to his heart, swooning.

They layered their palms over their own heart, a much more subdued longing sigh. “Oh, my dearest, I am so in want of your company, I do not know how I shall cope without you laid beside me.”

He got a stupid grin on his face, yelling to be heard. “My only beloved, simply do as I do, when I find you away from my fingertips.”

They stood up, cupping their hands around their mouth. “And what is that, great adventuring love of mine?”

“Simply think of my face,” he gestured with a flair, “and masturbate.”

They were pretty sure their laughter could be heard all the way in town

Bloodhound took their time getting ready for the hike to town, giggling over Elliott’s antics as they laced up their boots. When they were all set, they summoned Rjómi and Artur, and together they set off through the trees. A light wind came through, tickling the hair of their arms. The tall grass rustled, and birds called, and the sun peeking through the pines cast warmth on their head. The hike was decently long, but they were not lugging as large of a pack as before; it was easy, and they were in a fantastic mood upon reaching the bridge.

Before they could even look for Elliott, a man came running up to them. “Hey, hey, you know a dude who was floating down the river-dark hair and uh-“

Their chest tightened. “And a white shirt with pink flamingos all over it?”

“Yeah!”

“Yes, that’s my boyfriend.”

“Well your boyfriend couldn’t get to the side and the current took him down the left fork about ten minutes ago.”

“Oh _shit-_ “

“I sent my buddy after him but-“

Bloodhound said a hurried thank you and leapt over the side of the bridge, landing in ankle deep water and almost falling in the river. Rjómi started barking, meeting them at the riverbank (taking the longer, safer way around) while the man on the bridge stared in slack-jawed awe. “Artur, Elliott!” They pointed downstream, where the river forked, where they’d neglected to mention about the left half that led to a waterfall. They got out of the water, running pell-mell along the grassy riverbank as Artur went ahead of them.

He returned, and they knew they were close. Rounding a long corner they came upon two things: a man on the bank in shorts and nothing else, and Elliott in their boat, wedged between two rocks about ten feet from the edge of a waterfall that probably wouldn’t kill him. He was gripping the books like a lifeline. Bloodhound cursed upon seeing him, and then cursed again when they realized they hadn’t given him a life jacket.

“Hound!” Elliott exclaimed, shoulders slackening.

The man on the bank turned to them, glancing at Artur as he glided and perched on one of the rocks keeping Elliott from a very great fall. “So, you’re the partner.”

“Ja,” they said, dropping their backpack on the ground, yelling, “and that’s my idiot boyfriend!”

“You didn’t tell me there was a waterfall!”

“ _You_ told me you knew how to manage a boat!”

“I mean, I did! Do!” He looked down either side of himself. “Until I didn’t. I mean, I was going for the side! But I didn’t, uh, I didn’t go fast enough and uh-“

“Next time you lie to me,” they growled, “lie about something less consequential!”

He huffed. They found a length of rope in their pack and began to unwind it. “Next time you send me down a river, tell me there’s a _waterfall!_ ”

They stamped their foot, pointing, not yelling just to be heard over the water. “Stop that, don’t make me feel any guiltier than I already do!” He threw his hands at them, face scrunched up in annoyance.

“Uh, this the best time for a lovers quarrel?” The man asked.

“Shut up and take the end of the rope,” Bloodhound tossed it to him, and thankfully he did so unquestioning. They held up the other end. “I’m tossing this to you, wrap it around the hook!”

Elliott nodded, catching and then tying the rope. “I thought you said the rope at the dock was your only one?”

“I lied, I just didn’t want you to cut it,” they said, carefully tugging to make sure the knot would hold. It jiggled the boat a bit, Elliott bracing himself against the side.

“Oh, fuck you!”

“I don’t know if I want you that close to me,” Bloodhound wrapped the rope around their hands for grip. “I’m a bit mad at you.”

“Mad at _me?_ ”

“Yes, and I’ll be madder once you’re safe. Now hold on, we’re going to pull you out, and then onto land. You’re going to be close to the edge, stand at the front nearest us and be prepared to jump. Alright?”

“Alright,” he replied, grumpy but obeying. Artur flew back to the bank and landed near Rjómi, who watched attentively. Bloodhound told the man behind them to pull on three, finding out his name was Darrell, and then counted down. On the dot they pulled, lurching Elliott halfway out, and then again.

Bloodhound was briefly afraid the boat would lose siding and Elliott would go in the water, but it held. They grabbed handfuls of rope, arms singing in pain as they alternated between pulling and stepping back. The boat skidded over the current, running diagonally from them. Half of it hung over the edge at one point before Darrell gave an almighty tug that landed him on his ass, but also rescued a currently screaming Elliott Witt. Bloodhound managed to pull him the rest of the way to shore. Soon as the boat was on the rocks Elliott tumbled out, backpedaling away from the edge until he slipped on grass and landed on his back. Rjómi ran straight to him, licking his face.

“A-are you okay?” Bloodhound wheezed, coming over and collapsing on their knees beside him.

“Y-yeah.”

“Good. Fokker.”

“Fuck off,” he said, looking up at Darrell and holding up his fist. “Thanks man. I owe you a drink.”

He accepted the fist bump with some amusement. “Sure man, if y’all don’t kill each other first.”

Elliott’s laugh was wheezy and strained. Once Darrell had left, he looked at Bloodhound. “Are we really gonna have an argument about this right now?”

 _Yes,_ they wanted to say, because they wanted to argue. Wanted to yell at him close up so he could feel how scared they were. “No.”

“Thank Christ.” He closed his eyes. Rjómi was hovering, tail wagging. The books were on the ground beside him. Bloodhound slowly sat, shaking as everything that had happened began to settle. Their hands, their legs, they trembled like a leaf in wind, their knees hurt, their chest hurt, tight with restraint. Suddenly, they wished to cry.

But what they wished more was that he hadn’t opened his eyes and seen them. He took their hand, and they realized he was shaking too, and held it to his mouth. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered against their knuckles.

“I-I’m sorry,” they almost gagged it out, covering their mouth with their arm, bowing over him, shutting their eyes tightly against tears. Gods, he probably wouldn’t have died, but that _probably_ was what got them, like catching a coattail in the door. Slowly they collapsed into him, face to his chest, and inhaled deeply. Cologne, coffee, sweat. A beating heart.

His arm was awkward, up and around their head, half hugging. They slowly laid out beside him, cheek sliding from his chest to his shoulder, lips pressing chaste kisses to whatever skin was naked. He could have died. For real. The anger was there, a brimming heat, but eclipsed by relief, and pain. They held his face in their hands and kissed. “Of all the things to lie about,” they croaked.

“I wasn’t, technically,” he mumbled, eyes half lidded. “I’ve been in a kayak and, uh, well, it seemed straight forward.”

“Usually is,” they mumbled. “I didn’t think to warn you. Didn’t think you’d make it past the bridge.”

“C-can I say we both fucked up?”

“J-Ja.”

He turned, wrapping his arms around them. They were not trembling quite as badly, and the assurance he was alive and well helped. “I don’t want to drink anymore.”

“Me neither. God, I’m sorry,” he kissed their shoulder, hand buried in their hair, holding them close. “But I don’t wanna carry that boat back either.”

“Fuck the boat. I don’t want to look at it. It’ll b-be fine here.” They inhaled deeply. “I just want home.”

“When we’re ready,” he said.

They pressed their fingers against his shoulder blade and ran the pads of their fingers over the fabric of his shirt, humming. “When we’re ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bloodhound's knees are totally FUCKED
> 
> also i spent 3 minutes laughing at the masturbation joke before I could even write it. Hopefully it's as funy as I seem to think it is 
> 
> Tell me what y'all think of this one. Brief, but a bit of conflict in this series was fun to write. As always, setting or lie suggests are ALWAYS welcome and encouraged. Proper credit will go to the idea-er. Or whatever.


	12. It Was an Accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bloodhound debates asking about one of Elliott's scars.

What do you do when the air conditioning breaks on the dropship and you don’t own any fans because you’re an idiot?

If your name is Bloodhound Johannsbur, you cuddle with your boyfriend naked, because its too hot for sex but you’re also chronically touch starved. The dog is there too, at the foot of the bed, but he’s got too much fur to want to be near either one of you, and the raven was smart and flew out the window hours ago. Bloodhound, for lack of other stimulation, was playing with Elliott’s beard and running their fingers over his face. Just light presses, tracing the line of his nose, smoothing over his eyebrows that could get a little unruly at the ends sometimes-they’d sweep up and give him an almost owl-like appearance. They’d been caught in these ministrations way longer than any normal person would be when they decided to start tracing over his scars, gently.

He smiled softly when he felt their thumb pass over the one on his cheek. When they’d first slept together, Elliott had been unafraid of their scars. They were mostly bodily, they made a point of avoiding letting giant fanged and taloned and clawed creatures near their head, and he’d put his hands over them without hesitation, without fear or hemming and hawing. He’d been gentle, they’d had ample time to speak out, but they didn’t because they were so happy to just feel normal. They’d been a little more hesitant despite their own preferences, facial scars were so often more personal, but Elliott had simply melted into their touch.

They traced the line on his cheek. It had been a bad accident with his father’s razor-his father used the old sort that flipped out from a handle, and a young Elliott had been determined to shave but managed to flip the thing straight into his face. “He still used that one,” he’d said, “he just kept it up higher, and after I wasn’t bleeding anymore he was like, “well, you’re not going to do that again, are ya?” He wasn’t wrong. Man, I miss him.”

They cupped his face, their other thumb going over the one on his nose; he tilted his head into the touch, like a cat. “I was hopping rooftops with my friends when I was fourteen after we moved to the city. Most of it was still rubble so you could kind of,” and he’d been holding a drink, and gestured out too far and spilled it-he was too drunk to notice, “jump, y’know? But I tripped and ate this half-collapsed roof, an old piece of glass just sliced me. I thought Mom was gonna be mad that I was out being stupid, so I stayed at my friends place and didn’t get stitches in time so, this.”

They smiled softly at the memory because he’d laughed while saying it. He carried the scars as memories and treasured them. One, though, one he’d never talked about. His eyes had closed and Bloodhound carefully watched his expression as they traced the scar over his eye, from brow down, ghosting over his eyelid. He almost seemed to grimace, eyelids moving like they might open, and then settling as they reached the end. They went over it again and he breathed deeply, stretched, and sighed into their hand.

“What about this one?” They’d asked some time ago, early in the relationship, and he’d shrugged it off and said he had to go help Renee. They’d started to again, over dinner, and he’d leaned over and drowned the question with his lips, pressed firmly, a silent request. “Just an accident,” he’d mumbled. It had been new enough, and Bloodhound was so hungry for skin touching theirs-they’d not brought it up since. They almost asked Evelyn twice, once during their visit and once during a video call he got up from, but they’d refrained.

They could ask again. But did they want to risk shattering this moment?

“Spendin’ an awful lot of time there,” he mumbled, and Bloodhound jumped. He chuckled deep in his throat, sliding his hand along their side until he reached their shoulder, opening his eyes, squinting. “Thinkin’, huh.”

“Mm,” they kissed him, slowly parting. Now faced with his eyes they were even less keen to try, but…it’d been a while. “Just wondering about it.”

“I figured,” he said, softly. “Always curious. Like your bird,” he tapped their nose.

“Artur’s cuter.”

“You’re right.” They snorted, let themself be pulled closer despite the heat. They felt his breath on their cheek. A moment of quiet. “I should tell you.”

“What?”

“I should. I don’t want to, but I should,” he seemed to be half talking to himself, hand wandering from their shoulder to their hair, running his fingers through it. “I just…it’s stupid. I was, I am, afraid, I mean, of, well, that you…God that makes me sound awful.”

“What? What is it? Elliott?” They propped themselves up on their elbow only to be brought down again, suddenly looking Elliott in the eye. Eyes that were watering. He blinked and pressed the back of his arm to his eyes, breathing deeply.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Huh? Why wouldn’t I believe you?”

“Because-because most people don’t, or, or wouldn’t or…and I didn’t know if you, I mean I didn’t think like _bad_ of you but-well you never know and-“

“Elliott?”

“You remember when we were talking about exes?” They hesitated. He lifted his arm, looking at them, trying to look serious while on the brink of something they didn’t quite understand. “You remember?”

“I do,” they said finally.

“Y-you had two and, well I had, more than that-and you remember, the last serious relationship I had before you, Veronica?”

“Yes, you said she was a bitch.”

“She was. I spent a year and a half with her and...” He sighed deeply. “God, I regret it but she…she…” He seemed to wither, and then not, straightening himself out. “She gave me the scar.” Their eyes widened. “She was abusive. Slowly and then, and then like a tidal wave of, of insults and picking at what I wore, what I ate, my hobbies my, my everything. I thought I l-loved her at that point and stuck out, but it just got worse and worse.” He set his jaw, Bloodhound feeling like an audience at the worst play in their life, imagined scenarios playing over and over in their head.

“She controlled almost every part of my life, and I let it happen because I was desperate and blind. But one time she, she got violent, physically. I couldn’t get off work to go with her somewhere for like, three times in a row and she just went batshit and pulled out a knife and sliced me. It was like, wow, what the fuck am I doing here? Like immediately I realized almost everything that was going on was wrong and, well long story short I got the knife away from her and called the cops. I was surprised they didn’t arrest me but-they got her and I had enough time to move my shit and change my number. I haven’t seen her since.”

Bloodhound stared. They opened their mouth but couldn’t make any words. Their tongue was useless.

“P-Please don’t feel bad or, or anything,” he started, “I mean, I mean I went to therapy and shit and, well I had my mom and she helped, and I’m good now and it's helped being with you and, well I know like, I’m a guy and a lot of people think I can’t, I mean that it didn’t happen or that I’m a wimp or something but I just, I didn’t tell you because I was worried that you’d think that too, not that I think little of you or anything-“

They kissed his forehead and he halted his speech. Then they kissed his cheek, below the scar, and finally, his lips- _I love you, I love you, I love you,_ all without words. They smoothed his brows and breathed deeply. “If I ever see her, I will murder her outright.”

He almost melted into their hands. “I shouldn’t find that as comforting as I do.”

“The ability to manipulate another person as she did is more immoral than anything we’ve done in the games. I think you are allowed the comfort.”

“I guess,” he said, though he was smiling. “I h-haven’t felt this relieved in, wow, a long time.”

“I’m happy to know. I want you to feel you can trust me, Elliott, as much as possible. I want that, if you’re hurting, I…you can trust me enough to comfort you.”

He pulled their hand up, resting the back of it against his lips. “I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No jokes just Bloodhound wanting to be the best they can for Elliott, who might be finally starting to get what he needs in life.


	13. They're Not My Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Of all the lies you’ve told me,” they said quietly, “that’s the stupidest one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to @sigmatauris for beta reading this chapter :3
> 
> Please note: This chapter has been sitting unfinished since around chapter 4 and was only just finished within the last week as I had some trouble getting everything about the topic across in a way I wanted. This series isn't completely chronological or anything but I figured some of you might wonder about the absence of Rjomi, since I've sort of followed an order.

How had they gotten dragged into this?

They didn’t drink at bars. In their earlier days, a young hunter thrust into a modern world they didn’t understand at all, they would frequent them for information, to practice their English, to get a free meal with a smile and a salacious promise that they wished they never followed up on. They had come to leave a bad taste in their mouth, with their tacky surfaces and creaking floors. Even high-end clubs made them uneasy, and it wasn’t because of the people.

That being said, Elliott owned a bar. Elliott owned a very nice bar, if the other Legends were to be believed-and they were, once they got into the place. Paradise Lounge was open, with dim-but-not-too-dim lighting, a large, square bar in the middle attended by a mix of MRVNs, a human or two and some decoys that seemed to spawn from an emitter in the middle, entertaining guests in Elliott’s place. There was a stage in the corner, a few tables, and then stairs leading up to a higher platform that encompassed the whole of the bar; it was sort of like a fire pit, and Bloodhound had no desire to be in the heat of things. They had settled at one of the tables above where they could people watch.

Well, person watch. Elliott was schmoozing, entertaining, and juggling at one point, sort of. He was absolutely in his element, like in the Games. He knew what to do and how, and he was reveling in it. They caught his eye at one point and raised their glass slightly, the grin he passed them infectious. Now they remembered how they got there. He just needed to go and work during the brief period off Talos during the season break, and he’d only asked if they wanted to come, hang out, that he wouldn’t be able to pay them much attention but it would be something to do, free drinks and food. And they’d said yes because of that stupid little grin.

They’d opted for a version of their mask that was a bit slimmer, subtler, and had a hole for drinking. They were a little bubbly, but not unaware enough to not notice a woman whispering to her friends before inching over and clearing her throat. "U-Uh, are you, are you Bloodhound?”

They turned their head her way. “Are there others saying they are me?”

There it was; the complete mind reboot and internal screaming shown in sharp little hops as she tried to not actually scream. Her friends in the back were gaping. Finding Bloodhound in public, especially in a hoodie and jeans, was about as easy as teaching a brick how to fly. “OhmygodIloveyourgames,” the girl gasped, “like you’re super, just, and like, you're awesome!”

“ _Þakka þér fyrir._ ”

She glitched again, grinning. “I- I was just- I was just hoping I could- I could get an autograph?”

“If you have a pen.”

The girl’s face fell and she turned to her friends, who all shook their heads. “Oh I...I don’t.”

“Well, I’m sorry but-“

“Hey, I gotchu.” Elliott appeared, and they almost jumped. _Is this how he feels when I don’t announce myself?_ He grinned when someone in the friend group legitimately screamed, pulling out a pen and tossing it Bloodhound’s way. “I told you to start carrying a pen with you.”

“No.” Was all Bloodhound said. They took the pen and the notebook the girl handed them, signing with a tiny sketch of Artur. It was barely recognizable as a raven, but everyone loved it so much they had made it part of their signature. Practically crying, the girl thanked them and spouted out a couple more words of admiration before her friends gathered, interacting with Elliott and themself before eventually slipping away. Bloodhound exhaled as Elliott sat across from them, sitting on the chair backwards. “Sometimes I want to go maskless and pretend I’m mute.”

He smiled just a bit, glancing around before resting his hand on theirs. “You can leave if you want, I’ll call you a cab.”

“Nei, nei. They were the only ones,” they said, partly entwining their fingers with his. “You look like you’re having fun.”

“I am.” He smiled. “Everything’s working smoothly, patrons are pretty cool, you know…” He gazed over the edge, into the pit of people, some gearing up for karaoke, others sipping drinks, more dancing. Bloodhound enjoyed the moment, feeling almost normal—just someone hanging out with their boyfriend, in public, with a drink. Not even close, but it felt like it. 

“Does anybody else come here?” By anybody else, they both knew they meant the other Legends.

“Oh, uh, nah.” He shrugged some.

“Why not?”

“I mean, I dunno.” He pulled back, stretching, avoiding their eyes.

They leaned back with their arms crossed loosely, part of them admiring his figure, but the majority of their brain was committed to the question at hand. It was a while before he huffed. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“How do you know how I’m looking at you?”

“I just know, okay? You’re about to be a pest.”

“I’m just wondering why-“

“Why? It’s not like- like we’re friends. I don’t have any friends-” they scoffed, stopping him in his tracks. He narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“Of all the lies you’ve told me,” they said quietly, “that’s the stupidest one.”

He stood almost immediately, twirling the chair back the right way. Bloodhound realized they fucked up almost a second too late; one second too late to grab him, two seconds too late to get him in a step, but just in time to say, “Dear, please.”

He turned sharply, and his glare was one that truly hurt. They hoped desperately that he’d come closer, but they were not so lucky. “I just mean they- they _are_ your friends. It’s stupid to think they aren’t.”

“So, I’m stupid?”

They winced. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Why should I-” He stopped suddenly, clenching his fists, taking in a deep breath, and exhaling through his mouth. “I’ve gotta check on the guys downstairs.” _I have to get away from you before I lose my temper_. They’d heard it before. Something about a relationship made Bloodhound forget what the word “tact” meant in both languages. He was down the stairs and at the bar in a second, and they could see him relax. Soon as he was away from them.

They didn’t have much of a stomach for their drink after that. They couldn’t decide if he was overly sensitive, if they were an ass, or if it was a mutual lack of ability to communicate. How someone could get angry over being _wrong_ about not having any friends was baffling. “Why should I”. _Why should you what? Dare think you have friends? Dare think people like you?_

Gods, and he’d driven them here.

They watched him still, occasionally moving seats to keep their backside from getting numb. Should they apologize? How would that even go, _sorry you have friends?_ They decided to bite their tongue— “hold their horses” as Elliott might say. It was a while, but as the night began to wane and they found themself in a corner booth, far from any semblance of humanity, they saw Elliott approach in the distance, zipping up the gray fleece jacket he’d brought with him. When he reached them, he shoved his hands in his pockets and stood a moment, then sighed. “Have you eaten?”

“No.”

“You wanna stop someplace on the way home?”

They bit hard on the inside of their cheek, holding back the instinct to try and explain themself. “Pizza?”

“Yeah.”

They stood, Artur flying down from the rafters and onto their outstretched arm. He looked half awake, so they ended up tucking him beneath their arm. He fell asleep. Elliott looked almost amused but didn’t crack a joke. In the car they adjusted themself, Artur nesting in their lap. They took off their mask, running a hand through their hair as Elliott started driving. They were sitting at the window of the greasiest, tastiest pizza joint in Solace City before Elliott spoke. “What did you mean when you said they’re my friends?”

They glanced his way, hoping their nerves didn’t show. “I meant what I said. They’re your friends. You spend time together.”

“We work together. It doesn’t make us all- all friends,” his voice hesitated on that, taking the pizza and 6 pack of beer and managing to get them both in the back seat. “They like Mirage. They _know_ Mirage.”

“They like and know Elliott.”

He scoffed now. “Elliott’s not much worth it.”

“If Elliott wasn’t worth it, I wouldn’t waste my time.” They watched his reflection in their window, glancing at them. “What about Renee? I think she’d be hurt to hear you think you’re not her friend.”

He scoffed. They were in front of the apartment, and he carried the pizza while Bloodhound took the beer, plastic rings digging into their fingers. It was eerily quiet, especially after a bar night. Elliott was usually simultaneously tired and energetic after working, coming home with some greasy food and miles of gossip that put them both to sleep. Today it seemed those miles of words were wrapping themselves around his brain, trapping his thoughts. They set the beer on the counter and put Artur to bed before joining him again. He cracked the beer open and downed half of it before saying, “She just tolerates me.”

“Elliott, you’re one of three friends she has in the whole world.”

He froze at that, hands on the pizza box lid. “What do you mean?”

“I heard her and Natalie talking.” They lifted the lid despite his hands, because for all the arguing and nerves, they were a Hungry Hungry Houndie. “She has a top three. You, Natalie, and Pathfinder. Though I don’t understand bonding with a machine, her statement was no less sincere.”

He hesitated, watching them place a slice of pizza so loaded with cheese it dropped off the sides onto their plate. He let a slice flop onto his plate and stared. “Top three, huh?”

“Top three,” they repeated.

“I guess we hang out a lot.” He poked at the pizza. “She comes to the bar. She’s been here a couple times. She visited Mom with me once.” He paused. “Oh man, I’m a fucking idiot.”

They swallowed the _yes_ with their food. But they couldn’t hold back the sigh. Elliott let his face fall to the counter with a thud, a sound that felt like it echoed, hollow with exhaustion Bloodhound never felt they quite understood. “I just don’t quite understand why,” they said quietly. Then they heard him sniffle and they regretted speaking.

He pushed himself up onto his elbows, sniffing, and rubbed at his cheek with his knuckles, propping his cheek up with his hand. “I- I just- I guess I’ve gotten so used to not having friends I just…assumed I did. I- I didn’t even think about it,” he pushed himself up fully again. “Anybody that’s hung out with me for the last…while, I’ve always been kind of…Mirage.”

They bit their lip. The pizza was forgotten, but not the beer; they cracked one open and drank. He’d mentioned briefly that Mirage was more of a persona—hell they’d noticed almost off the bat when they started dating—but they’d never asked beyond it. “Why?”

He set his jaw, glancing at them. “Coping mechanism, kind of. Fake it till you make it. Except I never feel like I make it. God, I sound pathetic.”

They ran a line in the condensation on their beer can with their thumb. “You sound human to me,” they whispered.

“Whatever.” He turned from them, hands clasped at the back of his head. “Sorry, no, actually no, not sorry. Not everything is some, some secret hidden nobility, Hound. I can’t twist around being alone so long I forgot what having a friend versus somebody you just kind of hang out with into something positive, it’s just sad. I-It isn’t some statement on some trials I’ve overcome, it’s the result of a million different bullshit circumstances that made half my life hell. And, and now…” He leaned back against the sink, breathing deeply. “And now I realized I was wrong. I’ve been lying to myself thinking it was the truth ‘cause…’cause it was, at least I think it was, for a while- I don’t know. God, toss me a beer.”

They quietly did so. He opened it over the sink, watched it flow over the rim and onto his hand, then pushed it to his lips and threw back his head, chugging the whole thing. He gasped at the end, tossing it into the recycling under the sink. “I didn’t mean to, I mean, I’m not mad at y-you I’m, I’m mad at myself.” He stopped, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. “I…I’m not very hungry. I’m sorry, I’m being an ass. I just-I need to think I guess. I need to text Renee, I need to…”

“You need to breathe,” they said.

“Yeah, that.” He went by them, and stopped, placing a hand over theirs. “I…I’m gonna go to bed.” He kissed their temple. “I love you.”

“Love you,” they said softly, and let him walk away.

Without raven or lover, Bloodhound took their beer and pizza to the balcony and ate in the cold night. It felt much like when they’d been single, years of hours alone like this, though usually in the deepness of a jungle or desert or tundra, and always without the concern for others they had right now. They were suddenly very worried about Elliott, having thought they’d known more about him than they apparently did. It was still a bit early into things, yes, but nevertheless, they worried that he needed them—or anybody—and was not asking for the help he needed.

This worry wrought around their gut and left them unsettled. What were they supposed to do? They couldn’t just say the right thing, that was evident, and it didn’t feel like poetry—well, it didn’t feel like _words_ at all could fix something like this—could help him. It bothered them so much that they almost left to buy cigarettes, but they’d promised Elliott they’d quit.

They put away the pizza and beer, they tidied the kitchen, they tried to read. They were still bothered when they finally relented and came to bed, dressing down into nothing. Elliott was in bed, facing the wall. Awake, judging by his breathing. They got in carefully nonetheless, facing the opposite wall. What was he thinking about? Was his mind running away with him? Would the mood persist tomorrow and the day after that? Was this realization going to create a domino effect, one after another until he collapsed completely?

He scooted back into them, skin to skin, and then his hand glided over and gently squeezed their thigh. They swallowed the involuntary sigh, their chest relaxed so quickly it ached. They crossed their arm back over his, returning the squeeze. They decided the words could wait; for tonight, the touch had told them what was important: that it would be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you to the reviewers and kudo-ers, you the mvp's y'all and have made writing this fic series a joy! And a thank you to the readers as well <3

**Author's Note:**

> I also have a Tumblr at kittymsmithwritesstuff.tumblr.com


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